


Trying So Hard to Breathe (But No Air in My Lungs)

by IcyPanther



Series: Shooting For the Stars (But Crashing Back Down) [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Panic Attacks, Protective Hunk (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Matt Holt, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-01-07 07:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18406343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: The word is out: Galaxy Garrison University professor Andrew Wilde has reportedly sexually assaulted three students. Threemalestudents. Not only is speculation running rampant around campus… so too are the crude comments, the laughs and the disbelief. And Lance isterrifiedof being found out. He does all he can to put on an act, a mask, to prove that there’s nothing to see here. But when public opinion begins to slowly side with the victims and vilify Wilde… well, the disgraced professor can’t have that. He warned Lance that if his name was going to be dragged through slander then Lance’s would too. And, well, Wilde has always been a man of his word…





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** This is part five of an alternate universe series set in college. You will need to read all four earlier parts before reading this one.
> 
>  **Warning notes:** This fic, like all others in this series, deals with the the elements of rape and sexual assault. There **is** an attempted assault in this story, but the keyword is attempt, it is not graphic and it is warned at the top of that chapter. There is also some vulgar language and insinuations. The fic as a whole is about recovery and the healing/acceptance process and is not graphic, but if any of those elements are a trigger please proceed with caution.

_I'm not supposed to be scared of anything, but I don't know where I am_  
_I wish that I could move but I'm exhausted and nobody understands (how I feel)_  
_I'm trying hard to breathe now but there's no air in my lungs_  
_There's no one here to talk to and the pain inside is making me numb_

 _I try to hold this under control_  
_They can't help me 'cause no one knows_

 _Now I'm going through changes, changes_  
_God, I feel so feel so frustrated lately_  
_When I get suffocated, save me_  
_Now I'm going through changes, changes_

 _I'm feeling weak and weary walking through this world alone_  
_Everything they say, every word of it, cuts me to the bone (and I bleed)_  
_I've got something to say, but now I've got nowhere to turn_  
_It feels like I've been buried underneath all the weight of the world._

 _-Changes,_ 3 Doors Down

 

Lance tried hard not to pull down on his jacket cuffs as he watched his advocate read over his newest draft. It was a bad habit he’d gotten into, the worn and frayed edges testifying to it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself as even now, almost two months out from _it_ he didn’t like to show any additional skin.

He was still hesitant to do so even in the safety of his dorm room, but Dr. Fahari had encouraged him to try. So while he hadn’t been able to wear short-sleeves and heaven forbid lounge about shirtless as he used to, he had slowly been taking the hoodies and jackets off, sometimes even pushing back long-sleeves to his elbows.

Showers were still awful and he brought a full change of clothes with him, hating how the damp cloth would stick but the thought of walking even the dorm hallway in a towel had him cringing. Hunk too knew of his shower schedule and if Lance hadn’t checked in within half an hour he’d either get a series of texts if Hunk was in class or his best friend would come knocking outside the stall. It was both a safety thing — even though Lance hated that he still jumped when he heard others enter the bathroom because that was _pathetic —_  and a way to make sure Lance didn’t wile away hours under the stream.

It happened more often than he wanted it to.

It made Lance feel worse each time.

He was supposed to be getting _better,_ supposed to be getting back to _normal._

Patience, Dr. Fahari had told him, dark eyes kind. The healing process was not a race. Even if some days he took steps back so long as he was trying to move forward that was a win.

He did his best to believe her. He wanted to feel better, he did.

Some days though were harder than others.

Like today.

Anything relating to the trial was hard.

But he had to do it.

The preliminary hearing was coming up in a few days and while Lance was not attending it he still had to provide written testimony for his advocate to read on his behalf.

It hadn’t started off very well.

The preliminary hearing was designed, as he’d learned via the attorney GGU had supplied him (and hand-picked by Dr. Holt), a very firm, no-nonsense woman named Gloria Snow, to put the case before a judge who would decide if it should go to trial. It would, no doubt, she told him, but they still had to present their case.

Lance did not have to go. None of the three (Lance still couldn’t believe two more had actually… that they… that even though he didn’t know them and wouldn’t know them he wasn’t _alone_ ) victims who had come forward were doing so; they were all being assigned advocates to protect their identities. Lance knew that Wilde knew he was one of the three but there was nothing to be done for that.

He didn’t even really have to interact with his attorney beyond that initial meeting as his advocate would speak for him in all regards.

But that meant…

That meant his advocate had to _know_ what had happened.

And Lance…

Lance still couldn’t talk about it. Not really.

The first advocate the university assigned to him had been a highly-recommend one who worked with younger sexual assault victims and who Dr. Holt said had assisted the university before. But her clientele was typically female and at their first meeting Lance had felt… he wasn’t sure how to put it into words but he hadn’t feel comfortable talking to her.

They’d tried another woman advocate, but Lance hadn’t felt right talking with her either, her approach a little too clinical for him. He had thought that might be better, but once it was put into practice he found himself clamming up and only able to offer head shakes or nods.

Not what they needed.

He’d felt even  more ashamed then, spending the drive home from that second failed meeting in the passenger seat of Shiro’s car crying and whispering that he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t do this, he was pathetic and a failure and weak and—

Shiro had pulled over, parked the car, gotten out and crouched at Lance’s side and held his trembling hands in his own larger ones that somehow Lance never felt threatened by, and coached him through some of his breathing exercises.

Shiro had made a suggestion then, voice soft. He had a friend who worked as a victim advocate. His best friend, he amended. And…

And Pidge’s brother.

Would… would Lance be willing to meet him?

Lance had hesitated. He knew it was ridiculous but he had been avoiding any sort of extended contact with male figures. After the incident with Professor Torrance — he still flushed at the memory and had been grateful that other than a gentle inquiry at his next class how he was feeling in which Lance mumbled out a “fine,” and then a whispered “thank you,” it had not been brought up again — he had come to realize he had a sort of flight response with most male figures in any type of position of power. Students he was mostly okay with, just during the showers where he felt so exposed a real issue, but older men…

But this was Pidge’s brother. Matt. Lance really didn’t know much about him, but Shiro did his best to give him some background, the entire while rubbing his thumb gently over Lance’s knuckles.

Matt worked on the east coast. He had not started out as an advocate as, like his sister, he was a brilliant programmer and had a quick mind. He actually used to serve as a liaison to the FBI despite his young age (only twenty-seven now, twenty-four at that time).

It was during that, when assisting in a case involving a child prostitution ring that Matt’s algorithms had managed to finally track down, he had changed course. He’d been a first responder on scene, Shiro relayed quietly, and had seen… seen things no one should ever have to. And despite the fact his job was done once they had found the warehouse…

Matt stayed. He stayed and sat with those victims, _kids_ and _teenagers,_ and remained with them throughout the entire ordeal; to the hospital, to the police station, to the center where they were housed until arrangements could be made. He heard them, he listened to them, he was there for them. He walked many through the process (acting as a translator as many did not speak English and Matt was fluent in six spoken languages and too many programming ones, Shiro had chuckled), through the system, through what was going to happen to them.

He quit being a liaison the next day.

He couldn’t work with numbers, Shiro said softly, not when there were _people_ right in front of him. He instead became an advocate for children and teens, specializing in foreign victims through the FBI who did not have any contacts stateside. He found them housing and health services and support and represented them in court as needed. If… if Lance wanted Shiro could reach out to him and he knew Matt would come.

It would be kept private too, Shiro assured. Matt wouldn’t discuss _anything_ with Shiro or Pidge or Dr. Holt despite their relationships. Shiro trusted Matt with his life.

And Lance…

Lance trusted Shiro.

He’d quietly agreed to try. But, but only if it wasn’t too much trouble.That was such a long trip and—

And Matt would make it a million times over, Shiro interrupted. That was who he was.

Lance had met Matt two days later.

He was a complete opposite to the two advocates he had already tried; they all pressed shirts and business skirts and so _polished_ while Matt… Matt was in jeans with a flannel shirt and tennis shoes, a scar on his left cheek and a _ponytail,_ who insisted Lance call him by his first name and not his last and title like the other advocates had presented.

But it was his smile, wide and yet soft that really set Lance at ease. He didn’t trust smiles anymore.

For some reason his gut told him he could trust Matt’s.

They’d met a few times, and not at a business office like the previous ones had been.

No, they met at Shiro’s tiny studio apartment.

It was somewhere Lance felt safe, Matt pointed out, and that was his main priority. He also didn’t push Lance to talk about anything as the other two had tried, telling him they needed an account for the court.

Not yet, Matt told him instead. They had time until that when the actual trial would start. Right now they just had to focus on presenting the facts to show that a crime had occurred and later, when Lance felt more comfortable, they could discuss details.

Even that though had been hard as since consent was the underlying factor it had to be addressed.

Lance had frozen up every time he’d tried to explain, asking finally, voice small, if they could just use the police report.

Matt had given him a sad smile and a head shake. No. This needed to be from Lance, his own words. Matt had suggested then that Lance try writing down some thoughts and Matt could ask follow up questions with a head shake answer.

Lance had tried that.

They were on their third draft now that Lance had spent the week trying to put together with the little notes Matt had made with Hunk offering moral support each time he worked on it, a gentle hand on his back or arm and an always warm and steady presence. Reading it, vague still as it was, made Lance flush because he had been so _stupid_ and seeing it was a stark reminder.

And this was still only the beginning. There were no real details there, not about _what_ had happened on that couch. Lance had put down how he’d tried to leave, hand on the door knob.

He’d put down Wilde’s threats.

He’d managed put down that he had never verbally agree but he did… he had stripped, removing all of his clothes on his own even though… even though he hadn’t wanted to.

That was all he’d been able to write before he’d had to run for the toilet as memories of phantom hands and whispered words and heavy breaths had pushed in.

Hunk had followed him to the bathroom and after barricading the door to the other students, with some excuse of a nasty stomach bug and they did _not_ want to see or smell it, had sat with him, rubbing his back and smoothing his hair and telling Lance that was enough, it would be enough.

Lance prayed so.

He couldn’t…

Not right now.

Not yet.

He flicked nervous eyes back to Matt, who was sitting on the futon with the paper in hand, while Lance sat on the floor, back against the wall that divided the living room and bedroom from the kitchen, with one of the decorative pillows propped in his lap that he was trying to busy his hands with rather than his abused jacket sleeves.

He couldn’t sit on couches anymore.

The soft sounds of Shiro’s radio, some oldies rock n’ roll station, kept the room from being too quiet and Shiro had bought several candles after Lance told him about how the vanilla scent in Dr. Fahari’s office helped calm him down and the rain-scented one Lance kept at Shiro’s apartment (the rest in a candle collection he and Hunk hid from their RA) was gently permeating the air.

The futon creaked a moment later and Lance turned his attention from the pillow to Matt, who was putting the paper down on the single clear spot that Shiro reserved for them on the coffee table.

“It looks good, Lance,” Matt smiled at him. “Really good.”

“It’s… it’s enough?” Lance managed, forcing himself to not duck his head down. Eye contact had become hard where it never had been before as Lance felt if anyone looked to long they’d somehow _know._ But he had nothing to hide here.

Small steps, Dr. Fahari told him, having him hold her gaze. Practice with his loved ones, little conversations at a time.

Pidge had taken it to be a staring contest when he’d asked her to practice with him and honestly, Lance couldn’t remember laughing so hard in a long time at the faces she made.

It had felt good.

He tried to summon that feeling back against the churning in his stomach.

“Definitely,” Matt said. “You did good, Lance. I’m really proud of you, I know how hard this was.”

Lance did duck his head then, feeling his cheeks heat.

“I’m flying out this afternoon back to New York but I’ll return Wednesday night for the hearing on Thursday morning. We should be all set here but if anything, _anything,_ comes up you text me, got it?”

Texting was easier for Lance, the words easier to type rather than speak and the pauses between them allowing him to get his thoughts in order.

He nodded.

“Excellent. Any questions for me right now?”

Lance shook his head. They’d gone over it all already. Matt would go to court with Gloria (who was representing all three victims) and the other advocates and they would present to the judge, as would Wilde and his defense attorney. The judge would say there was cause to go to trial and a date would be set. When that date was Matt said could be anywhere from about two months to a year, it all depended on how jury selection went and the court schedule.

Lance had felt sick.

It’s not that he really wanted to do this at all but…

But to wait that long, to watch the already rampant rumors and speculation grow and grow, for this nightmare to not have an end, to know Wilde was out there, walking _free_ after all he’d done in that interim…

Matt had been quick to assure that given the high profile of the case and the fact Wilde was suspended from the university until the trial’s outcome he did think it would be sooner than later. Still though, it would be several months at least.

He just wanted it to be _over._

Although now that the first step was here…

He wasn’t sure he wanted it either.

His hands clenched around the pillow.

His chest felt suddenly tight.

He…

He didn’t want to do this.

“Lance, hey,” Matt’s voice gentled.

Lance took a shuddering breath.

It hurt.

He wasn’t getting enough air.

He tried for another gasping inhale, eyes stinging now too and vision blurring.

He heard the couch creak and then felt more than saw Matt sit in front of him.

“Lance, look at me,” Matt commanded softly.

Lance gave a weak shake of his head.

It made the dots blur more.

Panic attack his brain fuzzily supplied.

It had been a while.

That somehow made this one worse.

“Can you take a breath for me?” Matt asked instead. “A recovery breath? Three seconds.”

Lance sucked in a harsh one.

“Good, good. And release it slowly, there you go. And let’s do another.”

Lance lost track of how many times Matt coached him through the breathing exercise, but eventually, finally, the tight feeling dissipated and his hands unclenched from the white-knuckled grip on the pillow.

“Good job,” Matt murmured.

“‘m sorry,” Lance whispered, voice high.

“Hey now, none of that. It’s okay. You feeling okay?”

Lance managed a nod.

“Can you look at me?”

Lance slowly lifted his head, ocean eyes meeting warm honey.

“Do you want to do this?” Matt asked, holding his gaze. “You can say no. You can, Lance. And no one, _no one,_ is going to be upset with you. What we all care about is you, all right?”

Lance sniffled.

“I… I,” he swallowed. “I just…”

He didn’t want to.

But…

But he had to.

“We have two other testimonies,” Matt continued quietly. “They’ll be enough to send this to trial. Yours would help, of course, but… but not if you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

“I have to,” Lance choked out.

“No, you don’t,” Matt gently refuted. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Want?

He wanted to rewind time. He wanted to forget this ever happened. He wanted to be fine, be happy again.

He knew two of those were impossible. The last one wasn’t, with time. But… but he knew that if he didn’t do this, didn’t play his role in sending Wilde to prison then…

Then he would feel sick for not having done enough.

Coran had called him brave.

He… He was brave.

He wanted to help.

He wanted to do this.

“I want to,” he whispered.

“Then we will,” Matt said. “And Lance? It’s going to be okay.”

Lance nodded.

He didn’t know how much he believed that to be true but…

But he did trust Matt.

And he wanted it to be.

“ _Gracias.”_

“ _De nada,”_ Matt responded in kind, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

Lance found his matching it.

He could do this.

He would do this.

And then, when it was all over…

He’d finally be able to breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fifth (and final, absolutely the final) part to my Shooting For the Stars (But Crashing Back Down) series. It will be a total of ten chapters and was supposed to only be a 20k commission, but I went and doubled that to about 40k on my own so… you’re welcome?
> 
> I’m very excited for this addition to the series as it is going to wrap up _everything_ and considering how much this universe has grown it’s been both quite the adventure and the feat.
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


	2. Two

“Lance, you need to eat.”

“‘m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. Eat.”

The bowl of soup was shoved closer towards him, a bit of broth splashing over the edge onto the cafeteria tray.

Lance felt his stomach do the same.

“I’ll throw up,” he whispered, protested.

Keith’s frown stared back at him.

“Keith, please,” Lance pleaded. “I can’t.”

“You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. I covered for you at dinner last night to Hunk but I won’t again. Eat. Now.”

Despite the demanding words Keith’s eyes were soft with understanding.

The preliminary hearing was going on right now, Matt expected to contact him around 1500 with the results.

Lance had been a nervous wreck for the past two days but it had culminated yesterday afternoon after Matt had sent him a text to let him know he had safely landed in Phoenix and to again contact him about anything if Lance wanted to.

Lance had instead decided puking up his guts was a better course of action.

It was here. The hearing was actually here.

“Five sips,” Keith bartered. “And one of them better have a piece of chicken on it.”

Lance shakily picked up his spoon.

He knew he needed to eat. He had lost eight pounds in the weeks following _it_ and he’d only managed to put back on three. He just wasn’t very hungry anymore. He pretty much solely ate soup and occasionally could be cajoled into pasta and one time chili, but everything always felt so heavy.

“Sheesh, Esposito, you sick _again?”_ the words were nearly behind Lance’s ear and he startled, knee hitting the underside of the table and sending more soup spilling and heart rate skyrocketing.

“Wow, jumpy much?” came the words with a laugh that was laced with cruel humor from who Lance had now identified as fellow freshman in the same course track he and Keith were in: Ben Hart.

“Fuck off, Hart,” Keith snarled.

“You look awful,” Hart ignored Keith and plopped down at the seat two from Lance. “What is that, like fifth already time this semester?”

Lance swallowed thickly, pulse rushing in his ears.

Hart had been the first one to comment about his excessive use of the sweatshirts and then continually brought up Lance’s quieter demeanor with little snide comments — _up too late studying again, Esposito? Not like it’s gonna matter_ or _finally realize you’re playing with the big boys now, huh? In over your pretty boy head?_

Now this?

How many other people were noticing?

“Um—”

“Is this a new ploy of yours? Get out of class with the pity, woe is me sick card?”

“Hey,” Keith growled. “I said fuck off.” Keith stood up with a screech of his chair and planted his hands on the table, purple eyes flashing. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I’m asking Esposito, dumbass,” Hart snapped. “C’mon, Esposito. What’s wrong with you? Are you contagious? Are you going to infect all of us? C’mon, say something. Or do you not talk at all now? Can’t say I mind. About time something shut you up.”

“I...” he swallowed, the words lost. “I…”

“I, I,” Hart mocked. “C’mon, say something.”

“Enough,” Keith was between them then, hands fisted at his sides and clearly trying to restrain himself. “Fuck off _now_.”

Hart huffed, standing up from the table. “Whatever. I ain’t got time to talk to someone not even man enough to defend himself.”

Lance flinched.

Hart turned, shouldering his backpack. “Keep your germs and your rabid boyfriend away from me, Esposito.”

Lance flushed even darker.

What?

He thought Keith was…?

 _Dios._ Like he needed even more rumors right now, anything that would suggest that… that he liked... that… that...

Oh _Dios._

He wanted, needed, to say something… but Hart was already walking away.

“Fuck him,” Keith took a hard seat, practically bristling.

Lance’s throat was tight.

He choked on his next breath and a moment later Keith was up again, sitting on the chair in front of Lance and hands on his shoulders.

“Lance, hey, breathe.”

“I c-can’t,” Lance gasped.

He really couldn’t. There was no air in his lungs.

“You can,” Keith insisted. “Inhale and hold for three.” Everyone knew Lance’s breathing exercises at this point and he felt shame creeping up his neck again that he couldn’t even do this himself.

How many times was this going to happen this week? How many people were watching him fall apart now? _Dios,_ he was so pathetic.

Lance still followed the instruction, the need for air winning against everything else.

Keith walked him through the exercise for a couple minutes before he said anything else.

“Don’t listen to anything that asshole says,” Keith said softly as Lance shuddered out a final deep exhale. “He’s just looking for a fight ‘cause he’s pissed you made Blaytz’s list for the test run next month and he didn’t. Cocky, entitled son of a bitch,” Keith muttered.

“He… He thinks… we...”

Lance felt himself flushing again.

Keith let out a snort, clearly not bothered by it. “He’s an idiot on all fronts. Don’t give it another thought, okay?”

“But…”

“Lance,” Keith squeezed his shoulders almost painfully. “Don’t. He’s one judgmental moron who probably thinks you’re dating Hunk too.”

Lance managed a shaky laugh at the absurdity of that.

“He’s going to say anything that he thinks will upset you. He’s a bully who never grew up and he’s just jealous of you and what you have. Seriously.”

Lance still felt that sick press on his chest.

Keith saw it too and he gave a firm, decisive nod even as pink dusted his cheeks.

“We,” Keith gave his shoulders another squeeze, “are brothers. And I will _always_ have your back, no matter who I’m fighting. Got it?”

“G-got it,” Lance whispered, throat tight but for a different reason. He’d grown closer with Keith since… since all of this began and while he knew they were better friends, definitely weren’t just rivals, this…

He gave him a watery smile and a nod, the word running over and over in his mind.

Brothers.

It felt right.

“Good.” Keith released him and sat back down on his own chair. “Now eat your soup. Or do I have to spoon feed you, _dear?”_

Lance gaped as Keith, _Keith,_ fluttered his eyelashes at him while a grin filled his face.

And then Lance burst into laughter.

He ate all of his soup.

xxx

It was going to trial.

April seventh.

Fast, Lance had whispered when Matt called with the news. Barely seven weeks out, not the months and months he’d been expecting.

It was too fast.

Lance had been hoping that ultimately it would place over the summer months, when school was out of session, as the scrutiny would be far less and Lance could process it from the safety and seclusion of home. He knew the travel would be harder, as even though he wasn’t going to court he did still have to meet with Matt and since Matt had to meet with people involved in the case it meant traveling back to Phoenix every time, not to mention he was still likely going to be meeting with Dr. Fahari, but Shiro had assured him they would take care of it.

But that was a moot point now.

It could be delayed, Matt cautioned. A date could always be changed. But…

But he didn’t think it would be.

Once the case became more public finding an impartial jury would become harder to select and, Matt’s voice had lowered, there were details now that the public would be finding out shortly.

Like the fact there were at least three victims (those were all who would sign complaints, would press charges, and so there were only three counts instead of what Lance only knew as many, many more).

And they were male.

It hadn’t been something they could avoid. Lance knew that, Matt had already briefed him on it. The preliminary hearing had not just been from the advocates and attorneys but also referenced the police investigation Coran had headed, and even had they chosen not to reveal any details Wilde’s attorney had distinctly identified them as “he” in his statements.

But it wasn’t just the sexual assault that had been presented. It had been Coran’s investigation of altered test scores, of a history of fudging records. It was words taken from the victim statements that they had been threatened, coerced, and manipulated into committing sexual acts in order to remain a student at the university.

And Matt felt that the reaction in the room had been very positive to Lance and the others, a ripple of horror and whispers from the press and members of the public that had attended.  Lance still hated that hearings were open to everyone — he’d gotten a full history lesson about open meetings and laws from Matt when he’d mentioned it — and only in very few instances were hearings closed to the public.

This worked in their favor though, Matt had said. Once the public heard more than the initial arrest record had put out, lending to the early sympathizers of Wilde that it had been a case of regret and not a rape at all, it would show Lance and the others as victims.

It would make a jury want to side with them and if they didn’t… the public outroar would be disastrous.

And the university very much wanted to avoid such a thing.

Lance understood all of it.

He still didn’t like it.

Matt told him to take the week off; no more thinking about trials or courts or anything of that nature. They would be back at it after and, Matt had cautioned, they were going to have to… have to move a little faster than he’d thought.

Lance read between the lines.

He was going to have to talk about _it_.

In detail.

He felt sick even thinking about it.

There was no avoiding it though, not unless he wanted to take the stand himself and _Dios,_ that was the last thing he wanted. The thought of talking to Matt, in private, was bad enough. The idea of doing so on a witness stand, to an audience and a judge and _Wilde_ was too much.

All of this was too much.

Lance knew as soon as he left his dorm room that evening the hearing would be all anyone could talk about.

Matt might say public opinion was in their favor but…

But it didn’t negate the fact that a male sexual assault victim was…

Was not what people would expect, would so easily sympathize with. There were societal norms, stereotypes and…

And Lance had seen firsthand with his siblings that with knowing didn’t always come understanding.

He’d thought the rumor mill was bad when it first made the news, over break with downtime before coming back on campus. This… this would be _everywhere_ with even more speculation _._

And now his behavior was going to out him.

It already was.

He had been getting better, he’d been making improvements but…

But it wasn’t enough.

Hart, as rude as he’d been, had proven that. People were noticing.

Now just would they connect the dots?

He shuddered.

Matt had told him one more thing. A request.

He didn’t want Lance reading any articles about it, no googling for information, and _especially,_ if he did stumble onto an news story, no reading the comments.

People could be cruel behind anonymity, Matt said gently. They would say things online they would never say to someone’s face. They would make rampant speculations and commentary and while some would be kind the majority would not be.

Lance had given his agreement.

He didn’t want to know.

But he did need to get his act together, quickly, before the news broke that evening.

He couldn’t let anyone find out.

xxx

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Hunk murmured, hovering at Lance’s side as they walked across campus.

It wasn’t that he was against the idea of Lance getting out and about again, no, he was very grateful that Lance had expressed interest in something, even if a basketball game was not high on Hunk’s list of enjoyment items.

But he didn’t think it was for the right reasons.

Scratch that. He knew it wasn’t.

Lance had been making progress, doing small things here and there to push him back into what Lance insisted referring to as normal. He’d been trying to eat the majority of his meals in the cafeteria. He had gone to a GGU theater performance (Hunk had scoped it out, a comedy that shouldn’t have any potential triggers and Lance had indeed enjoyed it and watching him actually laugh without restraint had made Hunk’s night). He was spending some time in the dorm common room with their floormates, playing card games or watching television (even though he avoided the couch and after it clicked the second time when Hunk had patted the wide open cushion and Lance had shrunk back with a shake of his head Hunk had felt his heart break and permanently joined him on the floor). He was studying in the library at one of the public tables, often times with Keith or Pidge. They were keeping their dorm room door open, a big step on Lance’s part after having hidden away for so long.

Those were good steps.

This was not.

This was trouble waiting to happen. The stands were going to be crowded. They were going to be loud. There would be people bumping and touching and inside Lance’s new personal bubble. Lance too would be different. He would not be cheering with abandon. He would not be making comments and finger guns and trying to hit on the female ball players from the stands.

No.

He’d be sitting there, likely flinching whenever someone leaned in too close, whenever a hand touched his shoulder or back. He’d be in his hoodie, refusing to take it off in the overhot gym.

He’d stand out which was the exact _opposite_ of what he was trying to do.

Because the rumors had already started and Lance was desperately trying not to let them come back to him.

No dates had been provided so really, it could have happened at any year. It could have happened to any former student of Wilde’s. But since it had been released last semester it was of the high opinion that it was recent.

And any male who had taken one of Wilde’s classes in the fall was under scrutiny, with a mixture of sheerly pure interest, a good dose of sympathy (for which Hunk was grateful to hear) and then… then the ridicule. The disbelief, the mocking laughs, the jokes about being a _whore_ as though somehow the news article of _being threatened_ to do _that_ that the police report and prosecuting attorney had proclaimed had been overlooked and instead people were joking, _joking,_ about how the timing would indicate a “favor,” about how the victims had clearly wanted to “get it on” with an older man and only now were regretting it. Sucked to be them. Hunk had to walk away from that group of laughing boys in the cafeteria before he did something that made things worse.

Hunk had read the article (and another and another and ended up reading about six different version from various news outlets) even though he knew Lance had been told not to. But he couldn’t help it; he had to know.

And he felt sick of what Wilde’s team had come up with. He’d known the consensual argument, he’d heard it over and over now. Besides claiming consent for… for that part, they were saying that any altered grades were at a professor’s discretion, outlined by GGU policy, and could be changed at any time. Wilde noted through this attorney that he often offered additional credit and assignments and Hunk hated that that was true.

The defense even got in front of the expected pushback of a teacher and student relationship. Perhaps it didn’t cast the greatest light on Wilde as a professor but a relationship with a student wasn’t illegal. Frowned upon heavily, but not illegal. And absolutely nothing criminal had happened between Wilde and his students, they insisted firmly.

And based on the comments both on the articles and floating about the school some people were believing it.

Not all, thank God, and so far the sympathy for the victims and disgust at the claims against Wilde had not been drowned out, but those cruel reactions were still there.

And as Hunk knew too well Lance was _terrified_ of being found out.

So he was pushing himself to be normal, to be _fine,_ and he felt that going to the women’s basketball game against rival school University of Dabiazal was a good idea.

Hunk had a terrible feeling this was going to backfire but he couldn’t stop Lance short of physically holding him back or blocking the door and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that and so he had decided he would go along himself to do whatever he could to make this not be a train wreck.

Maybe, he pep talked himself as they approached the gymnasium, maybe he was getting worked up over nothing. Maybe it would be okay.

But as they opened the gym door and _screaming_ sounded from the basketball court a few yards past the atrium and people _filled_ the space in front of them, Lance’s step faltered and the grim line of determination that had been taking up residence was replaced with a panicky look that Hunk would never get over seeing.

It hurt his heart every time.

“Lance,” he tried to say, hand tightening where he’d gripped Lance’s elbow, but his words were swallowed by the crowd.

And before he could pull back on the arm, to get them out of there against Lance’s wishes because he _could not want this,_ there was a whoosh of air from behind as the doors opened again and then people were crowding, shoving, pushing them further into the atrium.

He felt Lance jump, somehow heard (or maybe he just imagined) a short gasp.

And then Lance surged forward into the madness.

Hunk had no choice but to follow.

By the time they reached the entry door, IDs in hand, Lance had a smile plastered on his face that was too tight, too bright, but no one else noticed. They passed through without issue and Lance headed right for the home stands, clambering into the bleachers that were nearly full.

He paused then, as if realizing _where_ he was and what it would entail, but before Hunk could try and pull him back, claim that _he_ didn’t feel well (and that was entirely truthful at this point), Lance edged himself into a row, stepping, graceful as ever, over pairs of feet while Hunk floundered a bit behind before he sat abruptly down in a small cleared space and Hunk shoved himself in.

Hunk resisted the urge to nod approvingly whereas before he would have rolled his eyes; Lance had seated them in the middle of a pack of girls.

Hunk slowly released his hand from where it had still been wrapped about Lance’s arm.

Maybe this would be okay.

“Yo, Esposito!” someone from behind leaned down between them, a redhead Hunk didn’t know. “Where you been? You that eager for some of this,” she raised a fist with a grin, “for catcalling my sister again?”

He heard Lance take in a breath.

And then...

“Like your punches hurt, McClain,” Lance teased.

Hunk tried not to stare.

What?

“Who’s your cute friend?” chimed in another girl and Hunk felt hands descend on his shoulders and his squeak was definitely audible based on the light giggle. “I haven’t seen him before.”

“Hunk’s not much for sports ‘cept baseball,” Lance said. “Spears, Hunk Garrett. Hunk, Cherese Spears.”

“Oh, definitely a hunk,” purred Spears and Hunk felt himself darken.

“Hey, hey, be nice, he’s a little shy,” Lance came to his defense. “But yeah,” he winked past Hunk, “he is most definitely.”

Hunk felt like he’d entered an episode of the bodysnatchers.

This?

This was the Lance from before _it._ Charisma and charm and playful flirting and that cocky smirk that hid an absolute heart of gold and Hunk really shouldn’t have been surprised that Lance was familiar with a chunk of the female student body (and they him).

But as Hunk looked down Lance’s hands were white-knuckled from where they were clutching his ragged sleeve cuffs and behind the easy grin there was that familiar tightness and it didn’t meet his eyes.

Acting.

Lance had always been good at it, used to be in theater himself back in high school but hadn’t had the time for it once he hit GGU as he’d needed to put all of his focus into his grades.

Hunk had to remember that immediately following _it_ that Lance had tried to act normal; he’d gone to classes, the cafeteria, even gone to _his_ class and while it hadn’t quite worked on Hunk he knew from contacting Shiro that first time after he’d found blood-stained boxers that the older student had been completely fooled.

And while perhaps acting wasn’t quite a solution… maybe it was. Lance had always been sort of like that, a ‘fake it till you make it,’ belief that had gotten him through those early years of learning English amidst teasing from cruel children, from pushing past bad test scores with a smile and a laugh to hide how much they had hurt, to the number of rejections Hunk had unfortunately witnessed as Lance was not the Casanova he thought he was (although still, looking at all of the girls who clearly knew him maybe college would treat him better).

This could still be good.

Or it could be very, very bad.

Hunk chose to go with good.

The sound of a buzzer cut through Hunk’s carousel of thoughts and everyone around him surged to their feet cheering.

Hunk followed the crowd but looked to Lance.

He was on his feet.

He wasn’t screaming like the rest (and why was everyone yelling? What had happened?) but there was a smile to his face and he was clapping his hands, thumbs still hooked inside of the sleeves.

It was a start.

Hunk let out a loud, bellowing cheer of his own, startling Lance who looked at him with confusion around a slowly growing more natural smile.

That exclamation of joy hadn’t been for the game though (Hunk figured their team had to have scored, maybe?) but for Lance.

He could do this.

Hunk knew he could.

What followed was a surprisingly pleasant evening as McClain (Emma) and Spears (who insisted Hunk call her Cherese) and a few other girls about them explained the game to Hunk, chatted casually in between plays about their shared general education literature class (and cluing Hunk in as to how Lance knew them, British literature last semester and now American) and the weather (thank God it was finally warming up to the sixties), and other small, random topics and Hunk was so grateful that no one even thought to bring up Wilde (a basketball game really wasn’t the place for that kind of conversation anyway, right?).

And watching Lance relax, his grip loosening on his jacket, even unzipping it and displaying a GGU tee shirt beneath it and smile and _laugh_ in a way that could not be anything but natural had Hunk beaming.

This had been a good idea.

He’d been worried about nothing.

“I’ve gotta say though, the fact you haven’t tried to hit on Calli once has me a little disturbed,” McClain said and just like that Hunk felt his pulse jump right back. “My sister not good enough for you anymore?”

“Or anyone on the team?” teased another girl whose name Hunk had forgotten.

Lance somehow kept a straight face although Hunk, tuned into anything and everything about his best friend, saw his fingers clutch at the worn jacket cuff, even as his lips quirked up.

“I am merely trying to be an upstanding gentleman rather than a catcaller. But if you prefer…”

“Aww,” gushed the girl sitting directly next to Lance, identified as Kelly Garcia. “That is so sweet.” She leaned towards Lance and Hunk could feel Lance _brace_ himself to not lean back. “Keep that up, Esposito, and you might just get the girl.”

“He definitely gets a kiss,” proclaimed Cherese and she bent down from above and before Hunk could even try and intervene, before Lance could move, she had her hands on Lance’s shoulders to hold him there and pressed her lips against his cheek with an exaggerated “mwah!”

Lance went white.

Only Hunk and Garcia were on level to see the color change and the way Lance’s pupils shrunk with what couldn’t be anything but fear. She opened her mouth, concern flashing across her features, but at that second there was another buzzer and everyone about them jumped to their feet.

Hunk pulled Lance up with him.

He could feel the tremble back in the slender shoulders.

It was time to go.

And thank God that seemed to have been the final buzzer for the game — the scoreboard flashing GGU winning 89 to 82 — because it provided the perfect excuse to go as the stands began to shift all around them.

“It was great meeting you all,” Hunk said, that at least true and his smile hopefully not too fake. “But gotta dash, have an 0800 tomorrow and need my sleep.”

“Hunkalicious sleep,” Cherese said and Hunk felt himself flush despite the circumstances.

But Lance was still quiet and Garcia was looking at him again and they had to go, they had to go _now_.

“Lance,” Garcia spoke, “are—?”

“Sorry, ladies,” Lance cut her off, flashing her a small grin that absolutely did not meet his eyes. “I’ve gotta get the big guy tucked in and I just got hit with a wave of the Zs too. It was, um, great seeing you all.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” McClain called, knocking her fist against his back and Hunk could feel Lance stiffen even more although the girl didn’t seem to have noticed. “See you Tuesday in class?”

“Yeah,” Lance flashed another weak smile. “See you then. And, er,” he swallowed, Hunk could tell trying to summon back some of that confidence (that act) from earlier, “tell Calli I thought she was smoking it tonight.”

“Smoking it or smoking hot?” teased McClain.

“Can I say both and you not hit me again?”

A ripple of laughter was the answer followed by another call of good nights and they were off.

Hunk could feel Garcia’s eyes thoughtful on them but she didn’t say anything and Hunk let out a whoosh of breath once they were free from her gaze. She seemed to have bought Lance’s recovery and even if she hadn’t… she didn’t seem the malicious type to gossip about it.

“Hey,” Hunk called softly as they escaped the main throng of exiting students into the cool Arizona air, shifting his arm to wrap fully about Lance’s shoulders and feeling the tremble that had nothing to do with the temperature change from the warm gym.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Lance whispered, almost like a chant. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Lance—”

“I’m okay, _Estoy bien. Estoy bien._ ”

He murmured it all the way back to their dorm as though he could convince himself it was true.

But the act was over, the curtain pulled back, and once in the safety of their room Lance curled up in his bed and _sobbed_ even as he continued to choke out that he was okay.

And all Hunk could do was hold him and pray that one day it all really would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I’ve really indulged in in this fifth part of the series is the world building. It has grown from just Lance with his immediate best friend and antagonist to encompass family, close friends, other teachers and authority figures and now even friendly (and unfriendly) acquaintances. I think when you have something like this _everyone_ in the sphere is affected to some degree and getting to watch it play out in both a college campus setting and on the court/criminal side has been a lot of fun to create. I know it generates a number of original characters, but I do hope you enjoy them! I did debate using canon ones but for the roles I wanted them to play I didn’t want any preconceived bias. 
> 
> Thank you to all who left such nice comments last chapter, I really appreciate them and your enthusiasm for this final saga of our story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


	3. Three

Lance was sitting on the decorative bench outside of the therapist’s office when Shiro pulled up. Even from there he could see that tan hands were tight in his backpack traps and Lance’s expression was downcast, lips pushed together as though he were trying not to cry.

And while Shiro had seen Lance on both bad and good days exiting therapy he had never seen him quite like this.

Lance had spotted his car and made his way slowly over, opening the passenger door with a breathy, high, “ _hola_ ,” and after swinging his backpack off he practically collapsed in the seat, arms wrapped tight around the bag as though it were a pillow.

This close Shiro could see the red-rimmed eyes and a sheen that was the onset of new tears.

Something in his heart twisted.

“Hey, buddy,” Shiro said gently, carefully.

Lance sniffled.

“Scale?”

They didn’t often talk about the therapy as that was private between Lance and his doctor, but Dr. Fahari had introduced Shiro (and he to the others) a scale model they could use to inquire after Lance without being intrusive.

One was bad, don’t want to talk at all (it had never been used). Two was not so great, don’t want to talk at all but please talk to me, three was okay, both sides could talk about other topics, four was good, we can talk about most things and five was really good, talk about most things and Lance would sometimes share little bits and pieces from his session.

“One,” came the barely audible answer.

“Oh, Lance,” Shiro murmured.

Lance ducked his head down further.

What had happened?

“Is Hunk out of class?” Shiro asked, getting a slight shake in the negative as slender shoulders trembled underneath the large hooded sweatshirt.

“I don’t want you to be alone right now, buddy,” Shiro said softly, honestly, picturing Lance either curled up on his bed crying or trapped in the shower. Neither were good.  “You okay to come back to my place? We don’t have to talk, you can even pretend I’m not there, but I just… unless you really want to go back to your room.”

Lance gave a jerk of his head.

“My place?” Shiro clarified and got another head bob. “Okay. Can you just put your seatbelt on for me?”

Lance silently did so and Shiro turned the car on, leaving the radio station as a backdrop. Lance huddled down even further in the seat, pulling his hood up and hiding his face and reminding Shiro strongly of Keith in the weeks he’d first known him.

Shiro flashed through everything that might have gone wrong to bring Lance to this.

It had been a week since the preliminary hearing and the rumor and speculation mill on campus was still going strong although to Shiro’s knowledge Lance had managed to evade any suspicion. Mostly, he frowned, because the kid could put on one hell of an act and Hunk had come to him with his concerns over it.

Shiro understood why Lance was doing it and on the surface it looked like things were getting better, and on some levels they were as Hunk reported Lance was becoming more at ease around classmates again and had been slowly unzipping sweatshirts and even a couple times wearing just a long-sleeved shirt with no jacket. Those were definitely pluses.

But pretending to be all right was not the same as actually being all right and too close to Lance’s insistence that he was “fine” before they’d convinced him to see the therapist.

He had a feeling Dr. Fahari had had something to say about that. But he also didn’t think she would make such comments that Lance was still in tears and this upset. That wasn’t like her. Shiro had half a mind to call her and demand an explanation because she was supposed to be _helping_ Lance, not hurting him.

Then again…

He cast eyes to Lance, head now angled away and gazing out the window and clutching his bag, he knew not every session was going to be sunshine and rainbows. They’d had two two-scales before and Lance had been upset then too; not quite like this but there had still been tears. Dr. Fahari, as Lance had told him, said there were no wrong emotions to feel and that every emotion was a valid one and he needed to open himself to all of them.

Maybe it was a good thing after wearing a mask all week that Lance was finally breaking it away, was being honest with his feelings again.

It just hurt to watch.

They pulled into Shiro’s apartment complex twenty silent minutes later. Lance followed Shiro, head still down, into the elevator, to the third floor apartment, and silently sank down to the floor on the fuzzy rug Shiro had recently bought after being made aware of Lance’s aversion to the couch via Matt (who didn’t tell Shiro much of anything as it was confidential and Shiro understood, but he’d dropped a hint about the lack of comfy floor wear and how couches could be ‘really uncomfortable’ and not just because Shiro’s futon was a piece of shit and Shiro could have kicked himself for not realizing it before) and grabbed one of the pillows off the couch and held it to his chest instead, pressing his face into it.

He looked so _young._

Shiro, as promised, didn’t attempt to talk to him and instead flipped on the radio and then sent a quick text to Hunk that Lance was with him and he’d take him back to campus later tonight unless Hunk received a text from Lance stating otherwise. It had been a while since the two of them had talked and even if Lance chose to spend the afternoon in silence Shiro thought it might be a good idea to get away from the university and its drama for a little bit, especially when Lance was still this visibly upset.

From there he puttered into his kitchen, grabbing a box of pasta, a jar of sauce from the cabinet (Hunk had almost cried when he found out but had held it together) and dug into the freezer for some Italian sausage Keith had cooked and frozen.

He pulled enough for two. Protein would be good for Lance if he could get him to eat it. Some fluids right now would probably be a good idea too and honestly, Shiro knew he could go for a cup of tea so he set the kettle on and began to sort through all of his tea leaves, settling on a rosehip, lemon and peppermint blend that should be soothing, and prepped two cups with infusers.

He smirked at the set up. Maybe Keith was right. He was a tea snob.

There were worse things.

While he waited for the water to heat and after setting the meat to thaw on the counter, Shiro went to his small kitchen table, took a sheaf of papers out of his travel bag and a red marking pen, put it back after a second and grabbed a blue one instead.

Grading it was.

It never ended.

Lance slowly uncurled from his hunched sit as Shiro worked.

It was a bit like watching a flower bloom, Shiro thought observing him out of his peripherals. He slowly straightened, then pushed back his hood. His death grip on the pillow became a little less intense and he let out a shuddering sounding breath followed by a heavy inhale. One of his breathing exercises.

Good.

By the time the tea was ready Lance was sitting cross legged, still a little curled over but not in that defensive way and while his eyes were red the tears were gone. Shiro silently offered him a cup and dark hands took it with a soft _“gracias,”_ and Shiro fixed him with a warm smile even though Lance averted his eyes.

He went back to his grading, silently cursing Slav and making a commitment to staple the looseleaf quizzes together in a way that Slav hated. Slav hated staples in general but since it was Shiro who had to handle over two hundred pieces of paper and not lose them he really didn’t care.

Lance joined him at the table almost a half hour after they’d gotten back, slipping silently into the other chair with the half-drained tea mug in his hands. Shiro sent him another smile but said nothing else.

Patience.

It was a tactic that had always worked with Keith and Shiro had a feeling it would work for Lance too.

He continued reading over the quizzes.

“I went to the coffee shop on Third,” Lance whispered, gaze on his tea mug but words clear. Lance had had to walk to therapy that day as everyone else had been in classes but Lance had said he didn’t mind the near two mile walk and the weather had been nice so no one had insisted. It was good to see Lance wanting to do something on his own too.

Shiro paused in his grading but didn’t push the papers away, letting them act as a buffer, even as his stomach twisted.

That was the coffee shop Lance had encountered Wilde before, one favored by many university students and professors alike and _not_ protected under Lance’s no-trespass and Order of Protection since he didn’t work there and didn’t frequent it enough to call it a hangout.

Had Wilde been there?

Had he done something?

He couldn’t have, he was bound to leave once aware Lance was there but even that split second, that moment...

“It was stupid,” Lance continued. “I just… I thought, maybe… maybe if I went there then… I don’t know,” he gave a tiny shrug. “I’d… I’d see him and he wouldn’t see me and just… maybe then… I wouldn’t see him in here,” and Lance weakly lifted a hand in the direction of his head.

Shiro bit his lip to keep from interrupting, from wanting to wrap Lance up in a hug as though that could force the memories and nightmares away.

“He wasn’t there,” and Shiro resisted the urge to sigh with relief, “but… but there were a lot of other staff members. And they… they were talking. About him.”

Shiro wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. He wasn’t immune to the rumors either swirling about both campus and outside of it.

They called them rumors for a reason. They weren’t good.

“They… they were saying it… it had to be a _mistake._ That he… that he was a _good_ person,” Lance choked on the word. “That this… that whoever had reported it just wanted attention. That he would _never_ do that.” Lance’s voice was growing progressively higher. “They believed him. They all did. And they _l-laughed_ at how st-stupid it all was.”

Shiro had the sudden urge to punch something very, very hard.

“And, and it’s not just them. The kids at school, they… they… a lot of them… they say how _nice_ he is. How k-kind. And they…”

Lance’s shoulders shook.

“And I just… just…” A sob broke through. “ _Why?_ Wh-why are people so… so….?”

He lifted his head, a single tear beginning its descent down his cheek. “I n-never wanted this. I kn-know I was stupid and I’m _sorry_ but I… I…” His gaze dropped again.

“Can I hug you?” Shiro asked, the need to do so nearly overwhelming at the broken, shattered boy sitting in front of him.

Lance gave a jerky nod.

Shiro was off his chair within a tick, kneeling at Lance’s side and wrapping his arms about the shaking form.

Lance turned and buried his face against Shiro’s shoulder.

The muffled sob still sounded like a gunshot.

“You’re not stupid,” Shiro said softly, moving one hand slowly up and down against Lance’s back. “And you have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy. You didn’t. And I know it’s hard, I know, to hear people say those things. And I’m not going to make excuses for them but they don’t know better. They only know the Wilde they’ve encountered, the one most people have. They can’t put that image of him with this one and so… so they don’t. They can’t. But that doesn’t make them right.”

Lance spoke, words mumbled into Shiro’s shirt. “You sound like Dr. Fahari.”

“Oh?” Shiro left it at that, up to Lance what he wanted to share but inwardly he gave a sigh of relief. If he was echoing her at least he couldn’t be making this worse.

“She… she said…” Lance pulled his face free, cheek still smushed against Shiro’s chest but more audible now. “She said I can’t control people’s opinions. That, that I have to focus on me. On what I know is true and, and the truth will… with the trial… but…”

Dark fingers grabbed hold of a loose fold on Shiro’s shirt. “But… but what if…”

Shiro heard the unspoken fear.

What if it didn’t?

What if the jury sided with Wilde?

What if all of this had been for nothing?

“I think,” Shiro said slowly, “people will see Wilde for the monster he really is. It might be hard for some to accept but… but that’s what I think. And,” he gave Lance a tiny squeeze, “it’s not just me.”

He could sense the confusion.

“I know Matt told you no reading up on it,” Shiro said, “and he’s right. And I know that you’re being exposed to, to a lot of negative thoughts on campus, but Lance… people _do_ believe you. They do. Not just the anonymous public; plenty of other teachers and staff at GGU and definitely a number of students.”

“Really?”

“Really. People are horrified that a professor could take advantage of a student like that. They don’t care what way the defense frames it, they heard the bit your side presented and they _believe you.”_

Lance sniffled.

“I know that doesn’t make those negative comments better. But, but if it helps…”

“It does,” Lance whispered. “ _Gracias,_ Shiro.”

“We’ve all got your back, buddy. We’re all going to be here for you no matter what. And I want you to know that no matter how rough this gets that you,” he squeezed Lance again, “are beyond brave. I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

“I don’t feel brave. Just… just… scared,” the last word a breath.

“And that’s okay,” Shiro said softly. “Just know that it doesn’t make any thing else any less true, okay? And you don’t have to be scared all alone. We’re all going to be here to help and protect you, just as you’re helping and protecting so, so many other young men. It’s going to turn out all right, Lance. I know it.”

Shiro believed it too. No matter what way the defense tried to twist and hide Wilde’s actions he had faith that everyone would see the cover for what it was, would see the helpless, scared victims Wilde had terrorized.

Justice would be served.

And while that wouldn’t end Lance’s nightmare, it would be a vital step towards healing, towards moving forward.

Shiro wanted everything and the world for Lance. It scared him a bit how much, how strong, those feelings were as he’d barely known Lance for half a year and most of that relationship was as his TA and then his brother’s friend. But something had changed the morning Hunk had reached out to him, voice wavering on the phone and pleading for his help because he didn’t know what to do and Lance trusted Shiro and please, _please,_ could he come over because something had happened, something bad, and he couldn’t do this himself.

And it had been cemented when Lance had shakingly relayed what had happened, had looked to Shiro with such trust even around his fear, and Shiro knew then that no matter what the future held he would be a part of Lance’s.

He couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“ _Gracias,”_ came the whisper, followed by Lance rubbing his tear-streaked face against Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro cuddled him somehow closer.

He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let go.

Lance slumped in his embrace, hand still holding onto his shirt but reminding Shiro now of a little kid carting around a favorite blanket rather than the desperate grip of before.

“Feeling a little better?” Shiro asked, getting a nod but it was marked by hesitation.

“I’m… I’m tired,” Lance admitted softly.

“Not sleeping well?”

“Not really but… but it’s not just that.”

Shiro waited again.

“I’m… I’m still scared. That… that people will find out. I… I don’t want them to.”

Shiro let out a soft hum, relieved Lance was bringing up this all on his own.

He was getting better. He really was.

“So… so I… I was trying to be fine. Normal. But… but… but I don’t really feel… but then if I don’t…” Red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet Shiro’s warm charcoal. “Everyone is, is trying to figure out who it is. And I… they _can’t.”_

“Can I ask what Dr. Fahari said?” Shiro queried as silence fell. He needed some guidance in this.

“That, that I promised I’d be honest with myself. And acting isn’t… isn’t going to make it better. Not really. But,” his voice wavered, “if I don’t then… then it’ll get _worse._ I can’t…”

“And what did she say to that?” Shiro asked gently.

“That she understood,” Lance whispered. “And, and she said… said as long as I was honest with myself and with, with her and people who l-love me,” his eyes flicked up and quickly back down, pink dusting his cheeks, “then… then if it helps, for now then…”

Shiro caught the hesitation.

He couldn’t fix everything but he could fix that.

“I love you, Lance,” he said it plainly and those dark eyes lifted again, wide. “I love you,” Shiro repeated. “So does Hunk. And Keith and Pidge and your parents and everyone who is supporting you. We all love you, buddy.”

Lance pressed his face back against Shiro’s chest to hide the new tears forming and his trembling lip.

“And I agree with Dr. Fahri,” Shiro continued. “I personally don’t like that you feel you have to mask your feelings like that but I understand too. I really do. So you do whatever will make you feel better out there but with us… don’t hide from us, okay?”

“‘kay,” came the breathy sob, the hand tightening once more in his shirt. “Sh-Shiro…”

Shiro didn’t break the moment for a few more minutes but by that point his knees were starting to hurt from the cheap carpeting and his shift to try and relieve the pressure must have been obvious enough as Lance released his shirt and sat back on the chair, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“If you’re all right with it, I’d like if you stayed for dinner,” Shiro said, not willing to put Lance back on campus with how raw he still was. “I’ve got pasta and sausages and I think some lettuce and tomatoes for a salad.”

Lance wiped another hand across his eyes. “You’re cooking?” he asked, the words still a little high, a little breathy, but light.

“Well, Keith already cooked the sausage and you don’t cook salad. But the pasta? Yeah. What, you think I can’t?”

“...I’ve heard things,” Lance said after a moment, averting his gaze but a small smile tugged up his face.

It was like a ray of sunshine.

“Keith is such a brat,” Shiro grumbled without heat, getting to his feet with a grunt. “But,” he shot Lance a smile, “if I said you could cook the pasta and I’ll handle the salad…?”

Lance nodded. “I’d… I’d like to stay. Thanks, Shiro.”

“You’re welcome any time,” Shiro said gently, but trying to convey that. “I mean it, Lance. Anytime you need to get off campus for a bit you can come here. In fact…”

He crossed into the kitchen and opened the junk drawer full of pens and post-it notes and bits and bobs and retrieved one of his spare apartment keys on a GGU lanyard.

“Here,” he handed it to Lance. “The big one gets you in the lobby and the smaller one is for my door.”

“Shiro, I can’t—”

“Anytime,” Shiro interrupted. “You don’t even need to call ahead; unless it’s the middle of the night then please do as I will assume you’re an intruder and tackle you. Ask Keith, he’ll tell you what a bad idea that is.”

That brought a wet laugh from Lance as he turned the keys over in his hand.

“ _Gracias,_ Shiro. I… um… _gracias.”_

“All right then, let me show you where the pots are and get you set up. I don’t know about you but I am starving.”

And Shiro could have jumped for joy as Lance gave a nod. “I… I guess I’m a little hungry too.”

As he directed Lance around the small galley kitchen, the boy not flinching once despite the close proximity, Shiro’s smile grew.

Things were going to be better than okay. They were going to be better. They were going to be _good._

Shiro believed it with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always love me some platonic Shance ♥
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means a lot ♥ You guys are the reason I continue to still post and I appreciate you more than words can say. Thank you ♥


	4. Four

“No,” Lance whispered. “I can’t do this. No more.”

“Lance—”

“I can’t,” Lance cut Matt off, voice trembling. “I can’t. _Lo siento pero no puedo. No puedo. No más.”_

 _“Vamos a tomar un descanso,”_ Matt said softy, the Spanish rolling off his tongue in a way that no matter how hard Pidge tried she could not emulate her brother’s fluidity. “ _Voy a hacernos un té, ¿Sí?”_

Lance wasn’t really sure that a break or tea would help but he gave a jerky nod and pressed his face into the pillow propped atop his knees to hide the tears trying to free themselves from his eyes.

 _Dios._ He was still so pathetic.

It had been two weeks. Two. The trial was in less than five and there was much to do before it happened and Lance…

Lance could still barely talk about it. About _anything._

He needed to. Matt was his advocate. That meant that Matt was representing him, his story, his words, and Matt needed to know what happened so he could do so.

He just…

It was _hard._

Even with Matt leading the conversation, with just asking Lance to nod or shake his head for now to certain points to get an outline of what happened and that they’d go back into more detail later, was too hard.

Lance had made it through the first section all right, about entering Wilde’s office and then trying to leave. He’d managed to nod and acknowledge, eyes averted and cheeks dark, about how he’d taken off his clothes. About how he’d never vocally said yes (he also hadn’t said no).

Matt hadn’t even asked him about… about that yet. He’d started with kissing, and that should have been easier but… but...

It was still _hard._

Matt had been patient, gentle, reminding Lance they could stop if he said so and all he had to answer with was head shake or nod and Matt would pull out the follow ups.

Had Wilde kissed him? Yes.

On his lips? No.

Anywhere on his face? Yes. Cheeks. Forehead. One on top of his head at… at the end, the whisper of _you pass_ haunting him even now.

On his torso? A nod. Chest. Arms. Back. Shoulders. Some… some had been bites.

Lower? Lance had flushed somehow more and nodded. Thighs. Inner and outer. Up his right leg one time, a series of fluttering gasps.

Not… not _there._

Had Wilde asked Lance to kiss him? No.

Had he forced Lance to kiss him? No.

It was the only even sort of positive Lance could find about the whole thing. Wilde hadn’t made him do anything to him. No kissing. No… no touching. No oral sex, he’d flinched as Matt had put it out there, clinically.

He just… just…

He couldn’t do this anymore.

No more. _No más._

He couldn’t think about it. About how… how _complacent_ he’d been. How _pathetic._ He’d moved when Wilde told him to; on his back, on his knees, over the couch arm, hold his leg there, put his arms here, tilt his head back, _open your eyes, I want to see those pretty blues._

He hadn’t fought back, hadn’t once tried to protest. He hadn’t tried to get away or ask for Wilde to stop or, or _anything._

Weak.

Shameful.

And there were phantom hands ghosting over his skin now, clothed head to toe as he was, and the sensation of fingers digging into his hips and lips and a _tongue_ on his cheek, on his legs and… and…

No more.

He was going to be sick.

His hands tightened in the pillow, trying to ground himself, but all that brought back was his own fingers grabbing onto the couch, bracing himself as Wilde held his shoulders and pushed into him and—

He was definitely tasting bile now.

He barely freed his face from the pillow before he was leaning over and emptying what little was in his stomach from the half bowl of soup he’d managed at lunch.

“Lance!”

Movement fluttered in the corner of his eye and even though he knew it was Matt, knew he was in Shiro’s apartment, he flinched as it came close, a breathless moan torn from him.

Too close.

Too much.

He gagged again.

He couldn’t breathe.

It made him gag more.

“Easy, easy,” Matt’s voice filtered in through the cloying panic. “C’mon Lance, inhale with me. You’ve got this, take a breath. Come on.”

Lance choked on it.

“That’s good, you’ve got this. Try again, let’s hold it. Together.”

Matt took an exaggerated inhale and Lance struggled to copy. They did it again. And again.

The flickering black around the edges of his vision began to recede, the tight feeling in his chest loosened.

He still tasted his vomit.

His eyes flickered to it and he winced, cheeks heating again.

On Shiro’s brand new rug.

“Hey, hey,” Matt’s voice drew his gaze from it even though he couldn’t quite look up. “Don’t worry about that.”

Lance’s lip trembled.

All he did was mess up.

He couldn’t do _anything_ right.

Tears anew pricked his eyes and he couldn’t quite hold in the sob wrenching its way up his throat.

“Lance, look at me, _mírame, por favor,”_ and it was the familiar words that had Lance jerking his head up, meeting Matt’s soft honey gaze. “ _¿Puedo tomar tus manos?_ ”

Matt always asked if he could touch Lance and so far it had been twice; once on his knee and one other time holding his hands between his own. Matt told him he could say no, he could always say no.

Lance shook his head this time.

“Okay,” Matt nodded. He had been kneeling in front of Lance, still a foot between them, but even so he shifted to lean back more, to give him space.

And Lance suddenly didn’t want that.

He needed… he needed a _good_ touch. Something, anything, to push away the phantom hands.

He practically lunged forward, tipping onto his knees as his hands came up to grab at Matt’s retreating arm, snagging in the light sweater he’d worn today.

“Whoa, okay, I’m here, _estoy aquí, te tengo. Te tengo.”_  Matt’s other arm came slowly up, hovering it clearly in the air between them and he looked to Lance, always seeking permission.

This time Lance nodded.

Matt gently placed it on his shoulder, drawing Lance carefully in and Lance went with it, sinking against Matt and pressing his face into the soft knitting, one hand pressed against Matt’s heart below his head and feeling the steady _thump thump thump_ while his other remained tangled in the armsleeve.

“ _Te tengo,”_ Matt repeated, his thumb rubbing along Lance’s shoulder but nothing more.

" _Lo siento,”_ Lance whispered.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Matt murmured. “I’m the one who is sorry. _Lo siento,_ Lance. I pushed too hard.”

Lance shook his head in denial. No. Matt had been fine.

It was he who was all messed up.

“ _N_ _o más hoy,”_ Matt decided for them softly. “Okay?”

“But—”

“No,” Matt cut in gently. “This is plenty for now. You did good, Lance. No more now.”

Lance felt like he was wasting Matt’s time. He had to fly in weekly to meet with him, hours spent traveling that he could be resting, could be working with those who needed him more, could be doing anything, other than dealing with him.

 _“Lo siento,”_ he apologized again.

“Ah ah, whatever you’re apologizing for, stop,” Matt chided. “Let’s just… just sit here for a little bit, okay?”

Lance gave a nod and closed his eyes, breathing in the faint scent of Matt’s cologne and the candle on the edges of the room.

He tried to ignore the faint acid scent of the regurgitated tomato soup.

Matt’s heart was a comforting pulse and by the time the tea kettle whistled a few minutes later he felt in control again.

“You okay if I get that?” Matt asked and Lance nodded, releasing Matt’s sweater and sitting back on his foot. “You want to get up too? Maybe rinse out your mouth?” Lance nodded again.

As Matt muttered beneath his breath about Shiro’s ridiculous tea setup Lance fetched a glass and filled it from the sink and cleaned out his mouth and then took a few sips.

The water settled heavily in his stomach but he felt better.

A little bit.

“Okay, I think I did this right but if it tastes awful we’re blaming Shiro,” Matt said a few moments later, offering Lance a mug. “Come on, let’s sit at the table. And ooh, look, cookies!”

Lance’s lips quirked up without permission as Matt grabbed a set of bakery sugar cookies on the counter and gestured for Lance to join him.

Matt sat with him for a minute, nearly inhaling a cookie, before he got up and went into the kitchen, fetching cleaning supplies from beneath the sink.

Lance started guiltily.

“Keep your butt in that chair,” Matt ordered, going over to the puddle. “I’ve got this.”

“But—”

“Ah ah, nope. Sit there and eat another cookie.”

Lance was still nibbling on his first but he remained where he was.

“There,” Matt sat back a minute later, self-satisfied grin on his face. “Perfect. Not even a spot.”

Matt rejoined him after disposing of the dirty supplies, eyes serious but still warm. Lance forced himself to meet them.

“You doing okay?”

Lance gave a tiny shrug. He was better than before but… but still…

“It’s been a rough week, huh?” Matt said sympathetically. “And this was too much on top of it. I’m really sorry, Lance.”

“‘s not your fault,” Lance mumbled, hands wrapped around the very… _bracing_ tea. “I just… I… when I think about it I…”

“I know,” Matt said softly. “I know it’s hard. It’s not going to be easy and I can’t say it will get easier, not right now. But I will be here with you for every step, okay?”

Lance nodded.

He believed that one hundred percent.

“How about we talk about something else?” Matt suggested. “I could tell you some stories about Katie? We used to get into the worst kind of shenanigans when we were younger — hell, who am I kidding, we still do — it’s impressive our house is still standing.”

“I’d… I’d like that.”

He needed something like that.

The past two weeks had been a blur of classes and trying to focus on them but well aware of the rumors swirling still even if he was starting to hear more and more sympathy for the victims and less cruel comments, less defending of Wilde, as the point that kept coming up now was the number of victims.

Lance hated that this had happened to anyone else but… but the fact two others had come forward strengthened his own claim, made this not just a single instance. It was a potential pattern.

It was something people were starting to focus on.

The perception was shifting, just as Matt had predicted.

It gave him hope.

It still made him feel sick that everyone was so invested in it, that he couldn’t go more than a few hours without overhearing someone talking about it in some way. He’d so far managed to duck conversations himself, just like last time, and he just prayed no one had noticed that he hadn’t said a word about the situation at all. That was one thing he couldn’t make himself do.

He was keeping up his act as best he could, forcing himself out of the jackets in classes, trying to be a more active participant in discussions even though every time eyes swung to him he had to fight the urge to cringe, to pull down his shirt sleeves, adjust his hem to make sure there was no skin showing even though he knew there wasn’t, and instead force a smile and a light voice.

At least it seemed to be working.

Hart had stopped making snide comments about his clothes and sickness and had instead only shot him a sullen glare when Lance tested higher than him, again, in their electricity and magnetism class with Professor Nyma.

It was maybe starting to feel a little more natural. Maybe.

Lance knew the fact that he practically fled as soon as he’d made enough of an appearance of “being normal” told another story.

But other things were better, for real. His classes were all going well (even if Hunk had taken to triple-checking every score to make sure it was accurate, that there was nothing suspicious about it because he would not, could not, let anything like that happen ever again and refused to back down when Lance told him none of that had been his fault but Hunk was insistent). He was hanging out with Pidge and Keith more and even though sometimes the nights were quiet and more somber than Lance wanted them to be he was laughing, smiling with them and having _fun._

He’d talked to Mamá and Papá on a video call the other day and they’d been so _happy_ to see him and inquired about his classes and friends and kept things light (Sara even popping in for a few minutes and he’d gotten to hear all about her group project and how Nancy was overdoing it on the glitter and it had made Adrian’s allergies act up and he’d smiled and laughed and tried to show how grateful he was for the slice of normal) and at the end Papá had told Lance how proud he was of him and how strong Lance was being and Mamá had said no matter what happened they were always there for him and would come out and get him at a moment’s notice if needed.

They hadn’t mentioned his older siblings and Lance hadn’t asked.

He couldn’t deal with that still raw wound right now.

But hearing about Pidge and Matt’s antics, while stirring a bit of heartache at the thought of his own siblings, was nice.

“Okay, so since Katie isn’t going to say anything let me tell you how she ended up with her new haircut,” Matt said, cheerful tones interrupting Lance’s thoughts and he welcomed it. “It started with Christmas lights, tinsel and a tin of popcorn…”

xxx

Lance didn’t feel good.

He’d managed to eat dinner under Hunk, Pidge and Keith’s watchful eyes, nearly a whole cup of soup and even a few bites of a grilled cheese but that last one might have been too much as his stomach was protesting even though he hadn’t thrown up.

He was glad. He’d already done that once today and the memory of Shiro’s rug made him flush.

Still, the idea of doing anything other than lying in bed beneath his covers with Hunk’s microwavable corn bag pressed against his stomach was too much, especially the planned night of homework which for Lance meant a lot of small text in his literature anthology.

He was just grateful that this time the sick feeling had an actual physical cause, not…

Not like earlier.

“We’ll just have an early night,” Hunk said softly, sitting next to Lance on the bed and rubbing his shoulder. “It’s been a long week anyway and I’m pretty tired too.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance murmured. “You have that big engineering test on Friday and—”

“If I really wanted to study I’d go to the library,” Hunk interrupted. “And I can still study tomorrow, no problem. I think sleep sounds way more inviting, honestly.”

“...Hunkalicous sleep?” Lance teased carefully. He had to be careful now to make sure he wasn’t acting as he was in public but actually wanted to say those words, that they were real.

He was relieved to find he meant it and Hunk’s resulting groan made him smile.

“You,” Hunk huffed, poking him in the shoulder and Lance was surprised by the laugh that sounded from him. It was followed by a groan as the action shook his stomach.

Ow.

“I knew dairy wasn’t such a good idea,” Hunk fretted. “I’m so sorry, _hermano._ I just saw you eating something solid and…”

“I should have known better,” Lance said, fighting another grimace as his stomach gurgled. “‘s not your fault. It… it could have been Matt’s tea, too. It was… strong.”

“Key word for awful,” Hunk patted his shoulder. “What is with Shiro and his friends failing at cooking?”

Lance let out another weak laugh.

“Come on, let’s make a last trip to the bathroom and then bed for us both,” Hunk said.

Lance forced himself out of his warm cocoon, shivering at the chillier air, and pulled on the hoodie hanging off his bedpost like second nature even for the short trip.

A quick stop at the toilets, teeth brushing and a washcloth to his face (Lance had stopped with his full treatment and to his surprise hadn’t broken out although he did think his skin was a little drier but he wasn’t keen on fixing it right now, not when he didn’t want any attention) and he was back in his bed, dutifully shedding the hoodie again and in just a long-sleeved black shirt with sweatpants.

At not even 2000 hours.

So _early._

His gaze flicked to the pile of books on his desk.

His stomach gave another twinge.

“It’s been a long week,” Hunk said softly, as if noticing Lance’s look. “And the books will still be there tomorrow.”

Lance nodded and pulled the blankets up fully to his chin, curling back around the heatpack and shuffling a pillow into his arms as well.

Completely covered.

Safe.

And a far, far cry from his previous normal of one bare leg sticking out of the bedding, sprawled on his back and chattering at Hunk to wind down the day about anything and everything.

A sudden lump filled his throat that had nothing to do with dinner.

He was getting better but…

But he was still so _different._

“Comfy?” Hunk was there then, understanding in his face, something sad too, but he smoothed down Lance’s blanket and patted his shoulder beneath the blankets.

Lance gave a soft hum, unable to speak.

“Get some sleep, _hermano,”_ Hunk gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Sweet dreams.”

“You, you too,” Lance managed to murmur back. Hunk gave him one last smile, shuffled to the light and plunged the room into near darkness save the moon filtering in through the cheap blinds and the soft blue nightlight by Hunk’s closet. The humidifier, Lance’s favorite white noise sound, kicked on a moment later.

Lance took in a deep breath and let it out, sleep already tugging at his eyelids.

He felt safe.

Peaceful, even with his lightly grumbling stomach.

Today hadn’t been the best day but… but it hadn’t been all bad. He’d done okay. He’d come through.

And he was ready for whatever challenges tomorrow would bring.

xxx

xxx

xxx

Nothing could have ever prepared him for what was to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt warms my soul ♥ That ending, not so much ;p
> 
> I’ve noticed I’ve lost a lot of you guys from the first chapter. Sad Icy :( If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning notes:** This chapter does contain some rather vulgar words and ideas regarding sexual acts. Please be advised.

****Lance reached a tired hand up to the light ringing of his phone alarm, setting the phone into snooze for nine more peaceful minutes.

Two minutes later though he was reaching for it again to bring it back into his blanket cocoon as he normally did, using the time to check the weather for the day, any emails that came in the overnight hours (always with a hopeful but never yet reached prayer that his 0800 professor would have messaged to say class was cancelled for the day) and occasionally pull up his Facebook to see what others had been up to even though he hadn’t posted anything in months.

But instead of maybe a few notifications on the screen from his apps  it was entirely lit up with missed calls, voicemails and text messages.

Lance blinked at it once, twice, sleep fading from his eyes and something curling in his stomach.

Was this a prank?

All of the numbers at first glance were unknowns, some listed as blocked or no caller.

He stared at it for another few seconds but the dread was growing worse and it wouldn’t ease until he did something.

A prank, he told himself, from Pidge.

He swiped open one of the messages.

 _Heard u like dick. Wanna try mine?_ A picture of said body part accompanied it.

Lance dropped his phone with a short gasp.

What?

What was this?

 _Dios,_ what was this?

Lance scrunched his eyes closed, taking a shuddering breath.

This was a dream. A nightmare. When he opened his eyes everything would be fine.

The text was still there.

Lance reached for his phone, his hands trembling so bad he bumped open another one.

_Aren’t you just a little whore?_

No.

What…?

What was…?

He forced himself to open another as though somehow it would give him answers.

Another dick picture.

_U wanna spread those long legs for me?_

_I’d tap that ass. And a lot more._

More pictures.

So many pictures.

A screenshot of Lance from his own Facebook profile; him hanging upside down from a tree by his legs, shirt flipped upside down and caught under his chin and showing off a slender form while Lance flashed a grin and peace signs at the camera. _Flexible, aren’t you? I’d love to see what other positions I can get you in._

_Coward_

_If older men is your type i am here to help you <3 ;) hit me up for fun night _

_Can’t believe u did that. Lol and i thought u like dgirls._

_You should be ashamed for what you did to Professor Wilde. You’re the one who should be embarrassed. Man up._

_I’ll tutor you, pretty thing  ;)_

_Wh0re_

_How dare you ruin a good man’s reputation_

_Is it true? Did you really fuck Wilde?_

_Mmm you are one gorgeous boy. All the things I’d like to do to you. I’d make you scream just for me, my_ _cariño ♥_

The words were blurring on the screen between a combination of tears and black spots.

This couldn’t be…

How had…?

What…?

He…

He couldn’t breathe.

Lance choked on his next breath, phone falling from his hands into his lap as his hands went to his throat, no air left in his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t _breathe_.

He let out a gasping whimper, a moan, clawing now at his throat.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

No.

No no no no.

A moment later there were hands on his shoulders.

He tried to scream.

It came out a garbled moan and he pulled away.

The hands followed.

Hands there, hands on his arms, his legs, his back, holding, pressing, gripping, bruising—

One of the hands _slammed_ against his back and he made an audible gasp that time, air returning in a painful burst.

“—breathe, Lance, breathe _hermano,_ come on, come on, you’re okay, _estás bien, estás bien.”_

Hunk.

Hunk’s hands.

Hunk.

Lance shuddered out a sob.

Hunk’s arms were wrapping about him now, pulling him into a firm but gentle embrace and tucking Lance’s head under his chin.

Safe.

But…

But not really.

“H-Hunk,” he whimpered.

“I’m right here, I’m right here,” Hunk rocked him. “It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare. It’s over. It’s okay.”

“N-no,” Lance stuttered.

The nightmare was just beginning.

He twisted in Hunk’s arms, pushing at them.

He needed to get away.

He needed to get away.

Hide.

Run.

“Lance—”

“No,” Lance moaned, trying to push his way free. “No no no no no.”

Hunk let him go but there was still no escape, Hunk on the edge of his bed and blocking his exit.

Where did he think he was going to go anyway?

Out _there?_

Lance scrambled instead across his mattress, back against the wall and wedged in between it and the headboard.

His chest was heaving.

He was feeling faint again.

“Lance, Lance, it’s okay,” Hunk tried to comfort, remaining where he was, arms placatingly at his sides.

Lance could still see the confusion, the _hurt,_ on his face.

Lance had never pulled away from Hunk.

Not once.

And all he could do was tremble and moan and curl up into a little ball in the corner and cry.

“Lance, it’s okay,” Hunk tried again. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Lance shook his head.

No.

No he wasn’t.

 _“_ Lance _, por favor, habláme,”_ Hunk begged. _“¿Qué ocurre?”_

Lance’s gaze flicked from Hunk to his phone, abandoned on top the comforter. Hunk followed it.

“Can I…?”

Lance wasn’t sure. But there would be no hiding it. He gave a jerky nod and Hunk picked it up, hitting the home button to bring up the screen.

He paled a second later.

“Lance… what…?”

Lance shook.

He didn’t know either.

Hunk was scrolling through now, face whitening more with each second. Not even a minute later he dropped the phone and scrambled off the bed for the garbage can.

The sound and stench of vomit filled the air.

Lance couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to, his stomach so tightly knotted nothing would come up. It still ached though.

Everything did.

He felt hot now too.

Dizzy.

He tried to take a recovery breath.

It hurt.

 _Dios,_ it _hurt._

Tears were filling his eyes again and he pressed his face into his knees as though he could hide away like that.

There was no hiding from this.

Somehow people knew.

They knew.

And they…

They thought he…

“I’m calling Shiro,” Hunk’s voice was strained.

Lance didn’t stop him.

Instead he found his hand picking up the dropped phone, staring at the still forty-six unread messages, numbness starting to set in.

He welcomed it.

Pidge’s name scrolled into his vision as his thumb moved down the list from the most recent to oldest. He clicked it.

 

_Lance pick up your phone! (21:46)_  
_Lance! (21:47)_  
_are you there? Answer me! (21:52)_  
_I’m hacking your facebook. I need to lock it. Your phone number is public (21:59)_  
_It’s private now. I changed your photo too(22:08)_  
_Lance please answer (22:10)_  
_I called Matt. he knows. He’s catching the next flight back. Can’t get a hold of shiro keith hunk. Call us when you get this (22:45)  
_ _Please be safe (22:46)_

 

Lance stared at it.

Clearly something had happened. Pidge had tried to warn him.

He’d just picked that night to go to sleep early. So had Hunk. Shiro always did and Keith didn’t tend to check his phone after dinner.

What had he missed?

What had _happened?_

How… how did people _know?_

“Shiro’s not picking up,” Hunk cut into Lance’s thoughts.

He sounded like he was about to cry.

“Pidge,” Lance heard himself say.

She said to call.

He couldn’t call right now.

Hunk was already dialing.

Lance turned back to his phone, minimizing all of the messages.

Sixteen unread voicemails. Voicemail box full.

Five were from Pidge. Two were from Matt. One was from the police department.

The rest were unknowns.

He clicked one, feeling as though it wasn’t his hand actually doing so.

Heavy breathing sounded. Moaning.

It was four minutes long.

Lance clicked off it.

Next one.

“ _How dare you ruin Professor Wilde’s good name. You slut. You whore. You are a selfish disgusting piece of human. You’re a coward. You—”_

Lance ended it.

Next.

_“Hello, this message is for Lance Esposito. Lance, my name is Barbara Pikan with Garrison City Channel 7 news. We’d like to speak to you about—”_

Click.

_“This is Bradley Jack from Garrison City News for Lance Esposito. Lance, we wanted to reach out and talk to you about the allegations of—”_

Click.

“ _Mmm, yeah, that’s right. You disgusting, filthy, beautiful little slut. I can’t wait to—”_

Hunk snatched the phone out of Lance’s hands, silencing the call and chucking it across the room, safely to land on his own bed, but far far away.

Lance looked up to Hunk, vision blurry again and chest tight.

This had to be a nightmare.

Somehow.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t.

It was.

It was.

Everyone knew.

They knew.

“H-Hunk,” Lance choked out and that was permission enough as Hunk sank onto the bed and Lance allowed himself this time to be pulled into his arms, hands raising to latch onto Hunk’s sleep shirt.

“Oh, _hermano,”_ Hunk murmured. “Oh, Lance.”

He didn’t say it was going to be okay.

That was most telling of all.

Hunk always said things were going to be okay.

Now he was silent as he rocked them both.

Lance didn’t have the energy left to cry.

He just sat there, head pressed against Hunk’s chest and not even the heartbeat a source of comfort as it raced too fast.

“I got a hold of Pidge,” Hunk said into the quiet. “Dr. Holt is calling Shiro’s apartment security to wake him up and he’ll  be here soon. Matt’s flight leaves at nine and he’ll be here at about noon. Matt left a voicemail for Dr. Fahari too to let her know. They said… they said not to leave until Shiro gets here. And, and no more electronics.”

As if on cue Lance’s phone began to ring, screen lighting up.

It was not with any of his programmed ringtones for all of his family and friends.

Another unknown number.

The buzzing of a text sounded shortly after.

“I’m going to turn it off,” Hunk said quietly. “That okay? Mine’s on so… so Shiro can…”

Lance gave a nod.

That was probably for the best.

Hunk didn’t move.

A few minutes later his phone went off with another text.

Hunk did disengage from the hug then and Lance curled over himself, hands fisting in his lap.

“Lance,” Hunk called, something other than horror in his voice. “That… that last text. It’s from that one girl. Kelly Garcia.”

Lance picked his head up.

“You… you should read this one,” Hunk brought the phone over.

And no matter how confusing things got Lance would always trust Hunk.

He took the phone back into trembling hands.

_Lance it’s kelly. Look, i just saw the interview. I don’t care what he says. You are not a coward. He is a creep. I know were not really close but i want you to know i’m here for you. I’m so sorry this happend to you._

Lance lowered the phone and Hunk took it back, holding the button to power it off.

Interview?

He?

Coward?

What… what was this all about?

Had Wilde…?

What had he _said?_

But Kelly…

Lance couldn’t say he was comforted really by her words because _she knew they all knew_ but…

But she…

A knock sounded on the door and Lance _jumped,_ slamming back against the headboard.

“Ignore it,” Hunk whispered.

His voice was shaking.

It came again. “Lance? Hunk?”

Lance recognized the voice. Mason Gallup, their resident adviser. He didn’t know him very well, just that he was a senior psychology major and he had always been nice if a little gung-ho about trying to get them to participate in floor activities.

“Lance,” the knock came again. “Hunk? Can I please come in? Just for a minute.”

“What do you want to do?” Hunk asked Lance.

Lance gave a tiny shrug.

He didn’t know.

But…

But Mason might have some answers. Or, or something. And… and Lance didn’t think he would…

He inclined his head.

Hunk squeezed him and then shuffled off the bed and opened the door.

Mason slipped in, just as slender as Lance but lacking a few inches, and still in his sleepwear although his eyes were alert.

And kind.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking from Hunk to Lance and then back to Hunk when Lance lowered his gaze.

“What… what do you need?” Hunk asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m not here to talk about anything,” Mason said by way of answer. “Not unless you want to,” to which Lance gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “Just here to let you know that… that the rest of the floor saw the interview—”

“What interview?” Lance surprised himself by asking, but was not surprised at how high and breathy the question was.

It was Mason’s turn to look uncomfortable. “The… the one last night. On channel five. The special report with… with Wilde?”

Lance’s eyes widened and Hunk let out a little noise.

“You didn’t see it,” Mason said, shock and realization coloring his voice. “You… you didn’t know.”

Lance shook his head.

He was afraid to ask more.

“Oh God,” Mason muttered, hand going to cover his mouth. “Oh, oh—” he broke off, sucked in a deep breath and straightened. “Okay. Look. Not here to talk about it. I, I don’t think I should be the one to…” he shook his head. “The guys all saw it or know of it. They’ve been told not to talk to you about it unless you bring it up. This… this is a safe zone. A safe space. Anyone tries or does something that… that makes you uncomfortable you get me, all right? Do, do you need me to call someone? I can—”

“Shiro’s coming,” Hunk interrupted.

Everyone on campus knew of Shiro.

Mason nodded. “Okay. Okay, good. I’ll… I’ll go alert security to let him in. And, um, yeah. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Thank you,” Hunk said for them both.

“And Lance?” Mason’s tone took on something gentler. “I’m… I’m so sorry, man. I… I don’t know details and don’t need to but… but I’m here if you need me. And… and no matter what others say… I believe you.”

He was gone before Lance could figure out how to respond, if at all.

Like Kelly, the comfort was there but… but not.

He felt so tired.

“Do you want to use the bathroom?” Hunk asked. “Freshen up before we go?”

As though it wasn’t even a question that they were leaving campus with Shiro, that Hunk was going with.

Lance shook his head.

“I’ve gotta pee,” Hunk admitted. “I’ll be right back though, okay?”

Lance nodded.

He didn’t feel capable of talking anymore right now.

Hunk slipped out of the room after collecting the trash bag of his vomit and Lance remained sitting on his bed.

His English anthologies he’d put off reading looked back at him.

He wished the only thing he had to worry about was classes.

Oh _Dios._

He’d finally… finally been…

And now…

One step forward, one hundred steps back.

How could he ever face anyone now?

They _knew._

And he didn’t even know _what_ they knew, what story Wilde had spun.

Nothing good, obviously.

Why?

Why would he have done that?

 _“You wish to accuse me anyway?”_ Wilde’s words, buried beneath layers and layers of other horrors swam to the surface. _“Be my guest. But your name will be dragged through slander as well.”_

Oh _Dios._

He’d…

He’d actually done it.

He’d told Lance. He’d told him.

And with the public perception starting to move in favor of the victims…

Wilde had done what he’d threatened.

Oh _Dios._

That time Lance did vomit, adding chunks of sandwich and soup to the fresh garbage bag Hunk had just replaced.

Oh _Dios._

That’s how Hunk found him, huddled next to it and trying very, very hard not to cry.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Hunk comforted, kneeling next to him and pulling Lance into his arms. “I’m here, _hermano._ It’s… everything is going to be okay.”

He didn’t sound as sure as he normally did.

Lance still tried to believe it.

“Come on, let’s get dressed. Shiro should be here real soon.”

Hunk had to pick out Lance’s clothes as he remained huddled by the garbage can, stomach still rolling.

He mechanically forced himself to get dressed, Hunk as he always did now averting his eyes and busying himself on his side of the room.

Dark jeans. Long-sleeved shirt in navy with a crew neckline. Gray zip-up, a looser fitting one with deep pockets. Lance pulled the zipper all the way up.

He exchanged one pair of socks for another, pushed his feet into pre-tied sneakers.

Everything felt like a dream.

He took a water bottle off his desk, swirling its contents in his mouth. He spat that into the garbage can.

Hunk murmured he was going to go throw that out too and left again, door closing behind him.

Lance stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the door.

When it opened next Shiro was with Hunk. He was wearing sweatpants, a rumpled hoodie, mismatched socks,with his hair tousled and a hint of stubble on his jaw.

Shiro never looked anything but put together.

Not today.

“Lance,” he breathed. He held his arms up, asking.

Lance went into them without a sound.

It was just for a moment but…

But for the moment he felt safe.

“Where are we going?” Hunk asked from behind him, his own hand descending carefully on Lance’s shoulder.

“Police station,” Shiro answered just as quietly, his chest rumbling beneath Lance’s head. “Can you grab his phone, Hunk? They’re going to need to see it.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

“My car’s right out front,” Shiro said, his hands coming up from the embrace to land on Lance’s shoulders and gently tilt him back, Lance moving wherever he was directed. “You okay to head out?”

No.

Not really.

He never wanted to leave his room.

But…

But he had to. He couldn’t live in here and the sooner the better, before most students woke up.

He managed a nod.

It was all he was capable of.

Shiro brought one arm to rest around Lance’s back, gently steering him forward while keeping him pressed to his side.

Hunk followed, locking their room behind them.

The entire floor seemed to be awake.

Lance could feel eyes, so many eyes, looking at him from open doors, heard little whispers.

No one said anything directly to him.

He didn’t know what to think. He was grateful. Disappointed. Sick. Relieved.

Numb.

He felt numb again.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to stop feeling it. It was safe. Distant.

They somehow made it to the first floor, out to Shiro’s car where Shiro had to lift his arm away.

The loss of the warmth should have hurt. Lance didn’t feel anything.

Hunk opened the backseat door and Lance followed him in. His best friend ended up having to buckle him in as Lance’s hands were frozen in his lap and tucked into ragged sleeve cuffs. Once it was on Hunk got an arm behind Lance, pulling him into a side hug that Lance slumped into.

He didn’t feel it.

“Ten minutes,” Shiro called from the driver’s seat.

Lance stared blankly the entire ride.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (All spelling errors in text messages are intentional; most people are not so great at proper spelling or grammar in that format ;p)
> 
> Oof, ouch. This whole concept of Lance finding messages like that on his phone is actually what prompted this entire piece. Then, cough, I went a little nuts as I wanted to give closure to the entire saga and needed to fully build up to this point and then build back down. But yeah, this started it all. Also, everyone catch the full title drop? It's been in this fic a number of time in pieces, but this was the first time it appeared all together/ish (although inverted, the (no air in my lungs) part came before the "so hard to breathe."
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥ I loved reading all of your comments last chapter, it truly made my day. Thank you. ♥


	6. Six

****_“Thank you for joining me this evening, Andrew. I know things must be more than a little difficult right now.”_

_“The pleasure is all mind, Connie. And while you are correct I do hope things may be looking better very soon.”_

_The two figures were seated across from one another in plush armchairs, the image of a fireplace and homey decor pictured in the back. The woman was in a skirt and dress shirt combination, feet crossed delicately at the ankle and leaning forward ever so on her seat with a look of both high interest and professionalism. All to be expected from the correspondent who regularly conducted in-depth interviews for Channel 5 News’ special features._

_The man was in a button down polo and dress slacks, a hint of reddish-brown stubble along his face and an easy smile that fit his relaxed posture as though this wasn’t anything more than a casual conversation between friends._

_Andrew Wilde was not a man who looked anything but confident._

_“Let’s talk about that,” Connie said. “What started this entire debacle was a series of allegations made against you for sexual misconduct by several students you’ve had while teaching at the vaunted Galaxy Garrison University. Is this correct?”_

_“Your statement is but the allegations are not.” There was something a mite harder in his voice now. “The accusations made against me are not indicative of my character nor to the events that transpired.”_

_“So you never had sexual relations with students?”_

_“Incorrect,” Wilde leaned forward a bit himself. “I did indeed have relations but I assure you, Connie, all of those meetings were consensual.” He let out a low laugh that wasn’t very humorous. “I’ll admit, as horrifying as the allegations being made about me are the fact my privacy and private life has been so villainized has been just as terrible.”_

_“Would you be able to elaborate a little further about this villainization?”_

_“Frankly, I’m embarrassed,” Wilde said bluntly. “I am a private man, Connie, and I don’t like my personal business being pried into. As far as we have come in today’s age there is still a stigma associated with not just being a gay man but of age differentials between partners. The comments I have heard directed at myself have been, honestly, horrifying, and I have feared for my life several times. My choice in partners should not make me have to worry if I will be attacked outside my own home.”_

_“Of course not,” Connie sympathized._

_“It is a man’s own business as to who he chooses to engage in relations with and the type of those relationships. We constantly see in the media the way celebrities and their exploits are portrayed against the common man and the difference is staggering. I do not like to have to continue to talk about my personal preferences, but apparently the public has decided that my business should be theirs.”_

_“On the note of business, I know you are a professor of Galaxy Garrison University, but could you elaborate more for our audience about your role there.”_

_“I would be delighted.”_

_Wilde went into a several minute long explanation of his career at GGU; how he had been there for twenty-one years and was a well-respected member of the astrophysics community. How he had won professor of the year four times in his time there, how he ran a mentor program in the department to pair freshman with older students and staff for research projects to gain a better understanding. He spoke of his numerous awards for his research and then went into an entire tangent on his current project, breaking off with a chuckle a minute later and an apology that, “that must be what I look like when my students try to describe sports to me.”_

_Connie laughed too. “You sound like you’re very popular with the students.”_

_Wilde sent her a rueful smile. “I had thought so, although apparently not all think so.  But I will say that despite the vitriol being spewed from some I have received many messages of support though from both former and current students as well as my colleagues and knowing that despite these allegations they stand behind me is heartening indeed.”_

_“One of the items brought up at the hearing was about your grading and possible alterations. Can we talk about that?”_

_“Gladly. Galaxy Garrison University is a premier learning institution that accepts only the best of the best. And while all professors are held accountable for their curriculum there is ample leeway as to how to go about issuing grades and scores and helping selecting and nurture those talented individuals even further and, unfortunately, weeding out those that fall short. It is something I have always greatly appreciated.”_

_“So each professor has their own standards for passing students?”_

_“Yes. Just as you have some who may award part of a grade for attendance while others do not, there are also professors that do or don’t offer extra credit, allow for retakes… you get the idea. All grading is also subjective, but I do like to think after twenty-one years teaching and twenty-four in this field I might know a little bit about what I’m talking about.”_

_Both laughed._

_“I have adjusted scores, certainly, before,” Wilde continued. “Be it an extra credit assignment, a correction attempt or even, depending on circumstances, an individualized plan to best help a promising student. And a changed grade should not somehow imply a tampered record or that anything nefarious was happening. Students change, grades change, for better or worse over the course of the semester. It is how it always has been.”_

_“And the rumors we’ve all no doubt heard about your relationships being related to these grades…”_

_“Completely out of line,” Wilde said. “I build relationships with many of my students, Connie, be they professional, friendly or even sometimes something more personal. I see many of these students multiple times a week and, no doubt, if they were a student who needed additional assistance and therefore had a more fluctuating grade I would have seen and worked with them even more. So perhaps you could say yes, their grades may have brought them closer to me than had they been maintaining a higher average but to suggest anything otherwise?” He shook his head._

_“Can we talk about your students?” Connie asked. “The court records show that there are three of them that have come forward to claim sexual misconduct against you. What can you say about your former relationships that would have made them say claim as such?”_

_Wilde let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Connie. It’s incredibly upsetting for a number of reasons to me. I have had several relationships over the course of my teaching career, which has been for quite some time as you can see, and all of those were mutual to both sides. The hardest part is not knowing who has made these demeaning claims.”_

_“Not knowing?”_

_“As you can see for yourself, all of these reported victims,” Wilde’s lip curled ever so on the word, “have chosen to hide their identities. They have chosen to drag my name and reputation through the mud while hiding from their actions. I had always believed, Connie, that it was innocent until proven guilty but the way the public has attacked me I find that it is the other way: that I must prove my innocence to no longer be guilty. But even so, when the court ultimately reaches that conclusion, I know that it will not restore my reputation to what it was before. And that, Connie, is unacceptable to me, that decades of work and my image can be erased just like that.”_

_“That is frustrating. You do not have even an indication of how old these allegations are then, whether within the last year or ten or even more?”_

_“It is information that has been kept from me to protect the identities of those who would see mine ripped apart,” Wilde said, voice bitter. “However…”_

_“However?” Connie leaned forward. “You have an idea?”_

_“I would never wish to commit slander as has been done against me,” Wilde said. “Like I noted, I have had many relationships and with many wonderful, upstanding young men, of whom I will not name out of respect for them and their privacy. But yes, I do know who the individual is that started this witch hunt against me and has somehow convinced others to make such accusations as well.”_

_Wilde sighed then, rubbing his forehead, clearly pained. “It saddens me, truly, that a moment of regret on his behalf has so utterly ruined me. Going to the police with claims of sexual assault… that is not how one should handle a mutually consensual relation. If I may be blunt, I find it incredibly cowardly. It is an act of cowardice and it has forever hurt me no matter when the court declares my innocence.”_

_Connie was leaning forward even more._

_“You said you would not name others, understandable of course,” Connie said, “but you have a name for certain to attribute to this accuser?”_

_“Yes. I know it without a doubt thanks to the police investigation,” Wilde said. “He is, or was, I should say, a student in one of my classes last semester.” Wilde sighed again. “It truly is a shame. Lance Esposito was such a promising student and now with this  false police report an allegations that will ultimately backfire on him I can only imagine what his future will hold.”_

_There was no change of tone, no inflection, but a name had been thrown out without hesitation._

_Connie’s eyes grew  wide, her mouth an ‘o’ of surprise._

_“Can you—?"_

_“I think I have said enough,” Wilde interrupted her. “I do not like to engage in mudslinging, Connie. I will not comment further and let the police investigation and the jury come to the correct conclusions instead. But I do think it fair that should I be forced to undergo such a public scrutiny that my accuser should face the same._ Everyone _,” he emphasized the word, “has the right to face their accuser, Connie, would you not agree? And I hope that the other individuals who have been roped into this realize what they have gotten themselves into.”_

_“Is that a warning?”_

_“An observation,” Wilde said. “I am a scientist, Connie. And as awful as this experience has been, both personally and professionally, I have a few hypotheses about how this will go and I look very much forward to seeing them come to fruition.”_

_“Well, we thank you very much for your time this evening, Andrew, and sharing your story with us.”_

_“Thank you for listening, Connie, and for your time as well.”_

The video cut off as they rose from their respective seats to shake hands and went to an auto-play that showed in the preview a series of profile pictures from Lance’s Facebook page that had been accessible until Pidge had locked it completely, a headline on the bottom reading, _“Who is Lance Esposito?”_ and it was shown as trending.

Coran closed the laptop with a sharp snap before that video could load.

Lance stared wide-eyed and shaking and Hunk’s hand, wrapped about his own, had fallen slack.

He got it now.

He almost wished he hadn’t insisted on seeing it but...but this wasn’t just some news article, some opinion.

This was…

He felt sick.

He wished for the numb feeling again.

Wilde’s voice echoed in his head, months now since he’d heard it.

There were the cultured, confident tones from the interview. And then…

_So exquisite._

Panting, moaning.

_You pass._

And now his photos…

All those texts…

_Mmm you are one gorgeous boy. All the things i’d like to do to you_

_Flexible, aren’t you? I’d love to see what other positions I can get you in._

_U wanna spread those long legs for me?_

Lance let out a soft moan and that was enough to break the spell in the room and Hunk’s hand tightened on his while his other one came up to cover his mouth.

“Lance?” Hunk whispered and Lance shook his head.

He just…

Just needed a minute.

Or an eternity.

He closed his eyes, the bright lights of the room muted somewhat and took in a shuddering breath and held it and then slowly, slowly exhaled.

And then again.

It was so quiet.

Then Shiro took in a heavier breath in time with his own and Lance felt his shoulders untense.

Everyone began to take deeper inhalations and exhalations and even with his eyes closed Lance could feel tears pricking them but this time at least they were grateful ones.

He wasn’t alone. Not here.

They — being he, Hunk and Shiro — arrived at the police department shortly before seven and ushered into an interview room. An officer had brought bottled water and offered coffee, to which they had all declined.

Or, well, Hunk had declined on Lance’s behalf as he had continued to just sit there, staring.

Waiting.

Coran had shown about twenty minutes later, expression grim and sympathetic and horrified all at once.

There had been an interview done by a news station and released last night on a prime-time segment, he said. Following it there had been a scramble by public and media alike to find out more and they’d located his Facebook page. Coran had already spoken with Samuel Holt, who relayed his daughter had locked and disabled the page but not before Lance’s phone number had been leaked and multiple photos had been grabbed and saved; everything from profile snaps to throwback Thursday posts of his childhood.

The university was aware of the interview and had re-issued their original statement after the preliminary hearing uproar: They were aware, they had no comment on the matter other than they were cooperating with police, and that the media was not allowed on campus to question or harass students and staff.

The media had taken in the first couple days following the hearing to hang about just outside the campus boundary to interview anyone who would stop.

He knew it was going to be a hundred times worse now.

He wondered what people would say.

He needed to know.

When Coran had arrived Lance had asked to see the interview.

It was the first words he’d spoken in over an hour, the first time the numbness had dissipated as the more pressing fear of the unknown clawed its way in.

He needed to know.

What had Wilde said?

Coran had quietly agreed to show him the interview in full and as a group they’d all watched.

He understood a lot of the messages he’s gotten now.

Between the interview and photos of him splashed all across people’s newsfeeds, people making assumptions, making him into some, some _object_ because of how he looked…

Just like Wilde had.

He took another shuddering breath.

“What now?” Shiro asked, voice low and his hand steady on Lance’s shoulder into the silence. “Is… is this something criminal? Lance has an Order of Protection. He—”

“Had Wilde addressed Lance, even on camera, yes,” Coran interrupted, but gently. “It would have been seen as a contact and thus violated the Order. But he did not. He kept his conversation to just the reporter.”

“What about going public with it?” Shiro asked. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Lance was glad he was asking questions.

Even after the breathing exercises if he opened his mouth he might vomit.

Coran shook his head. “He has first amendment rights and I already checked; he was not bound by any stipulations regarding disclosing information in his bond paperwork. Perhaps an oversight, but one that he took full advantage of… or should I say, his legal team.  Disclosing Lance’s identity will ultimately not, or should not, affect the case as the jury would have been provided his age and background after selection to aid in their understanding of the situation. The only thing, on the court side, that has happened is a more difficult jury pool selection.”

“That’s it?” Shiro asked flatly.

“That’s it,” Coran said something dark in his voice. “If Lance were a minor this would be a different story but… but if he were a minor all of this would have been very different.”

Lance bowed his head.

Eighteen by not even five months when it happened.

Four months and two weeks did not mentally make him any more adult than if he was still seventeen, but to the law it did.

And that was what had to be upheld.

“This is bullshit,” Shiro snarled.

No one disagreed.

A muffled ringing filled the air and Shiro shifted, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s Matt,” he said quietly. “He’s probably trying to reach you buddy. You okay if I take this?”

Lance gave a small nod.

Shiro hit accept. “Matt?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Matt’s voice crackled on the speakerphone, the sound of people and overhead paging going off behind it. “ _My flight got cancelled. Winter storm.”_

Lance felt his stomach drop.

What?

Matt wasn’t coming?

“Can you reschedule?” Shiro asked, and Lance could feel the concerned look landing on him. He lowered his eyes.

“ _Not till tomorrow,”_ and the sound of a curse came across the line, followed by more colorful words and then a breathless, “ _sorry, stupid escalator. Hey, is Lance there?”_

“Yeah. So’s his friend and the detective,” Shiro said.

“ _Can I talk to Lance privately?”_

“You good, buddy?” Shiro asked and Lance gave a nod.

“All right, out, out,” Coran got up and made a shooing motion at the others. “Lance, lad, just step out of the room when you’re done, all right?”

Lance managed another nod.

Shiro gently put the phone still on speaker in front of him, gave his shoulder a squeeze while Hunk did the same to his hand and they filed out, door closing with a soft thump a moment later.  
“ _Lance? You there?”_

“I’m h-here,” Lance whispered.

“ _Are you in a safe place?”_

Safe place. What Matt had described to Lance as not just a secure location he felt comfortable in but if mentally he was checked in to it and felt safe in that way.

The police station was safe. Shiro and Hunk and Coran were safe.

But no where else was. Everywhere else was dangerous. But for now...

“ _Sí,_ ” Lance managed.

“ _Good,”_ the sound of a door opening and more voices and then a whistling wind sound. “ _Hang on one second, I’m almost to my car.”_ A moment later there was a beep and then a car door closing and then a breathless, “ _finally. All right, do you want to talk or do you want me to?”_

“ _No puedo,”_ Lance whispered.

He didn’t even know what to say.

“ _Okay, on me. So first, I’m not going to go into a rant here because we both know what my thoughts are on the matter and I know you don’t like a lot of swearing and it’ll be pretty expletive riddled. I haven’t gotten the hang of ‘fudge’ and ‘oh gee’ down yet.”_

Lance let out a huff of laughter that might also be a sob.

He knew what Matt was doing.

It was working.

Sort of.

Everything hurt.

 _“What we need to talk about just quickly for now is what you want to do. This is… this is, honestly, something I haven’t seen before,”_ Matt’s voice softened. _“I admit, I also don’t work high-profile cases all that often. But the media no matter what is a pack of vultures and they’re going to be swooping in and your safety is my number one concern. Let me ask this first. Do you want to talk to the media? If you can’t speak, tap the phone once for yes, twice for no.”_

Lance gave the speaker two short taps.

No.

He didn’t…

He _couldn’t._ He couldn’t even talk to Matt, to _Hunk,_ to his _therapist,_ there was no way he could try to reporters.

“ _We could issue a statement of deniability; that you are not that Lance Esposito and have nothing to do with this investigation. But,”_ he heard Matt swallow, “ _already spoke with Gloria and she said at this point… that’s not going to help.”_

Lance figured as much. Maybe, maybe, if he was capable of putting on the mask again, acting and pretending no, not him, but… but his dorm floor had already seen him, he hadn’t denied Mason’s words. They knew. And even if they weren’t whispering at him to his face there was no way they weren’t talking behind his back.

That and Wilde had been so… so _confident_ in his answer and after saying he wouldn’t bring up a name he didn’t know… well, there was no going back.

Everyone knew.

Lance felt the tremble come back.

“ _Lance, you still there?”_

A tap.

“ _Still safe?”_

He paused. And then gave it another single tap.

 _“I know,”_ Matt said softly. He cleared his throat. _“We both think the best thing at this point is to follow the university’s lead. No comment. We can’t control what other people are going to say but we can make sure that nothing you say is misconstrued. We could also issue a statement and release it to the press with your side of events, but—”_

Lance hurriedly tapped two fingers. No.

That… that would be admitting it… it was true.

That it had happened.

That everyone _knew._

If he could pretend that, just for a little longer…

Even if everyone thought…

He could try and ignore it.

Just… just like he’d tried before.

It… it had almost worked.

“ _Then we’ll go with no comment. Does that work?”_

Lance tapped yes.

“ _All right. No comment. The media isn’t allowed on campus but when you need to leave I’ll make sure you can do so discreetly. We don’t need them following you to your therapist or to Shiro’s.”_

Lance realized a second later what that meant.

He was essentially stuck on campus.

With…

With all the rumors and stares and whispers.

Trapped.

_Dios._

_“That said, I think it’d be best if you stayed off campus for a couple days, maybe through the weekend. It’s not hiding,”_ Matt said quickly, “ _but right now… right now I think the space would be a good idea. A buffer. Let things die down a bit, give you some time to talk to Dr. Fahari and… and process this, a bit. What do you think? Yes to staying off campus?”_

Lance sent an agreement.

The idea of being trapped on campus was bad, but being trapped in his room where he knew he’d retreat to? Like a caged animal while he knew people were watching, waiting, to see what he would do?

No.

 _“You’ll stay at Shiro’s,”_ Matt said without hesitation. _“Unless you want to go home? I can make arrangements to—”_

Lance hurriedly hit two taps.

He felt his throat growing thick.

Home.

What would… what would Mamá and Papá think? Did they even know? They didn’t tend to watch the news. Would Mrs. Garrett have seen? Would she tell them? What did she think?

Oh _Dios._

Everyone knew.

Everyone _knew._

“ _All right, Shiro’s. That okay?”_

A tap.

His hands were trembling. He tucked one into the jacket pocket, fingers seeking out the frayed cuff.

It just made him more anxious but he couldn’t stop from picking at the threads.

“ _I’ll be flying in tomorrow, weather permitting, but you call if you need anything, okay?”_

“Um… Coran…” Lance couldn’t get more words out.

The detective had taken it, telling Lance he was doing a data dump of all of the messages and voicemails (and social media messages too, before Pidge had shut them off and Lance needed to thank her for that, for trying to warn him, even though...) as evidence. Coran had said it would take a couple days and he’d need to hold onto it until then and Lance hadn’t argued; he didn’t want it back.

But he didn’t have a way of contacting anyone now.

“ _Ah, Coran has your phone? Well, for now you’ll be with Shiro and you can use his. We’ll figure yours out later. I’m going to insist we get you a new phone number too.”_

Probably a good idea.

Lance tapped a yes for understanding.

“ _Okay.”_ Matt let out a soft sigh. “ _I think that’s the major things for now. I just… I’m so sorry, Lance. This isn’t… this isn’t fair to you. At all. But we’re going to get through this,okay? I know everything has changed but… but at the same time nothing has because Wilde is wrong and he will face justice. And you… you’re strong, Lance. I believe in you.”_

Lance didn’t feel strong right now.

He felt anything but.

And Matt’s words, while comforting, couldn’t begin to fill the growing chasm of dread taking over him.

Everything _had_ changed.

Everyone knew.

They knew and there was no hiding from it.

His stomach lurched.

It was like he was in a ship, hurtling to Earth.

His stomach gave another lurch and his hands jolted on the table as a sob heaved his shoulders.

Now he’d crashed.

He’d managed to survive the impact but...

But now…

Now the ship was on fire, it was _burning_.

And he didn’t know if this time he was going to make it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that called, a series title drop? Fun :D But oof, what an interview, eh? You see it far too often here in real life, people using their own perceived “victimization” (in Wilde’s case here that he’s a gay man interested in far younger men and now all of his years of professional hard work and accolades are being thrown away) to make themselves look like the victim instead. It’s a genius tactic and one Wilde can really nail. And having been on the news side of the world too, one that the media will eat up and then the slimeballs come out of the woodwork. Pobre Lance. 
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means so much ♥ I loved reading all of your comments last chapter, it truly made my day. Thank you. ♥


	7. Seven

“Lance?” Shiro rapped on the bathroom door. “Buddy? Can you answer me?”

Lance had been in the bathroom for almost an hour and the shower had been going nearly the entire time after they’d gotten back to Shiro’s apartment from the police department just before noon.

Lance had been near silent the entire time, nodding his head at questions but not much more.

Mild shock, Coran had said softly to Shiro, as everything was settling in. He’d gotten Lance a blanket from the jail to wrap about his shoulders.

It just made Lance look even smaller.

There wasn’t much to be done at this point on the law or legal side and so Coran had urged them to go home, to rest, to… to process.

Matt had called Shiro to go over Lance’s arrangements for the weekend and Shiro had of course said yes.

Hunk had said he wanted to stay over too.

Shiro had agreed after Lance gave a small nod, but he requested that Hunk go back to campus and retrieve some clothes and toiletries for both boys for the next few days. Hunk had tried to protest but Shiro must have looked more tired than he meant to because Hunk had snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

 _No comment,_ Shiro had reminded him even though Hunk knew that.

He just needed to say something to try and pretend they had any sort of control over this.

Shiro had gotten calls from both Keith and Pidge, wanting updates, wanting to come over but for now Shiro told them to give Lance some space. Let him settle in and then once Lance was ready they could do so.

He’d also told them no comment and, pleaded, not to do anything rash. They both had short tempers and the last thing needed right now was for Keith to physically assault someone.

They’d both agreed.

Go to class too, Shiro told them. He knew it was hard but… but normal was good.

Try.

He knew Hunk and Lance wouldn’t be.

Dr. Holt said he would take care of contacting their professors and letting them know both boys would be absent for Thursday and Friday classes.

Shiro figured they’d deal with Monday when it rolled around in four days.

They were still trying to deal with the current hour.

Lance had gone into the bathroom shortly after Hunk left and Shiro had not interfered, knowing the boy probably needed to just be alone for a little bit and that was hard to do in a studio apartment.

The shower had started a few minutes later.

Shiro assured himself it was okay, a hot shower could be soothing, and Lance would have missed his daily morning one considering events.

Not forty minutes later though.

And Lance wasn’t responding.

Lance wasn’t suicidal, Shiro reassured himself.

Or, well, he hadn’t been. What had happened now was…

Was a horror none of them had seen coming.

It had left Lance exposed.

Raw.

Vulnerable.

And he’d left Lance alone.

Shiro was a terrified idiot.

“Lance,” he pounded on the door harder. “Answer me.”

Just the hiss of water answered.

A jiggle of the handle revealed the door was locked.

“Lance!”

Shiro was not panicking.

He was not.

His mind flashed through the contents of the bathroom. The only medicine was some aspirin and a decongestant. He had a razor in there.

It could be enough.

Shiro threw his shoulder against the door.

It shook.

He did it again.

A crack formed in the cheap plaster.

He vaguely wondered as he yelled for Lance again if he should call 911.

After he got through, he decided. If Lance was… time was of the essence.

The crack widened.

And a moment later Shiro was falling into the bathroom, door slamming into the wall with a bang.

The shower curtain was closed and privacy be damned Shiro yanked it open.

Lance was sitting in the corner of the tub, fully dressed, knees drawn up to his chest with his arms wrapped tight about them and face hidden. Water splattered against his back from the shower head.

Shiro saw his shoulders shaking under the deluge. He doubted it was from the temperature, which based on the steam coating the mirror and filling the air was still at least rather warm.

His eyes hurriedly tracked over the form. There was no blood in the water, no stains or tears on Lance’s sleeves.

His razor was still in the cup on the sink and the medicine cabinet was closed.

He wasn’t hurt.

Not that way.

Shiro let out a breath, dizzy with relief.

And somehow that noise was what made Lance look up, red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks and such _pain_ filling his expression.

“Sh-Shiro?”

“Lance,” Shiro sank to his knees outside the tub. He still felt shaky. “Didn’t… didn’t you hear me knocking?”

Ocean eyes widened.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I… I… How… how long was I…?”

He looked so _confused._

And _scared._

Shiro reached up and shut off the water.

“About forty minutes,” Shiro said gently.

“ _Lo siento, l-lo siento, yo—”_

“Shh, it’s okay,” Shiro soothed. “I’m just… I’m glad you’re okay.”

Lance shuddered.

It could have also been a shiver.

“You want to get out of there?”

Lance didn’t move.

If anything he hunched over more.

His fingers were white against his soaked jacket.

“Can I come in?” Shiro put forth instead.

Lance met his gaze again. “You’ll get w-wet.”

It wasn't a no.

“That’s okay. Can I come in there with you? Or do you want me to stay outside the tub? Or I can leave entirely.”

One of Lance’s hands spasmed against his knee. “Here,” he whispered. “Sh-Shiro, I…”

“Okay, I’m coming in,” Shiro announced quietly. He got to his feet and nabbed the towel off the rod first and then stepped into the slippery tub. There was no standing water in the bottom, the drain open, but it was still plenty wet.

Shiro really didn’t care.

He gently draped the towel over Lance’s head and then awkwardly folded himself into the tub, ending up with one leg tucked underneath and the other stretching the length of the remainder of the basin. He carefully brought an arm around Lance’s shoulders, covered now too with the towel, and pivoted him ever so, turning him from his back facing the shower head wall to the same one Shiro was on.

It was a little terrifying how easily Lance fit.

He had yet to unwind from his hunched pose either.

He sank though into Shiro’s side with another shudder, towel clad head coming to rest on Shiro’s chest.

“I’ve got you,” Shiro murmured, feeling his side growing damp already. “I’ve got you.”

Lance’s breath hitched.

And then he let out a muffled sob, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

Trying to hide it, just as he had hidden them before under the sound of the shower.

No.

No more hiding.

Not here.

Not with them.

“Let it out,” Shiro said softly. “Let it out, buddy. You don’t need to hide. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Lance’s hand dropped from his face, landing instead to grip at Shiro’s jacket.

And then he _sobbed._

Shiro just held Lance tighter in the half-embrace, his front becoming wet with tears.

Lance showed no signs of stopping ten minutes later, his cries quieter but shoulders still shaking and Shiro could feel the the rapid, gasping breaths against his neck.

He heard the apartment door open and close, Hunk, he gathered, but the other boy did not come in even though Lance’s soft sobs were still audible.

Eventually they came to a close with a final shudder, a gasp, and Lance went completely limp with the release.

“‘m sorry,” he whispered, words muffled into Shiro’s chest. “‘m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Shiro ran his thumb over the coarse toweled shoulder. “It’s okay, Lance. It’s going to be okay.”

“They know,” came the small answer. “Everyone kn-knows. They… they think I…”

Shiro waited, continuing the gentle rub.

“They think i'm a... I’m a coward,” the last word barely a breath. “That I… that I _lied._ That he… that…”

“They’re wrong,” Shiro said simply but firmly. “And you are _not_ a coward. You are one of the bravest people I know, Lance. Not many could do what you did. Most don’t.”

Lance shook his head. “Not m-me. You and Hunk… you’re the ones who…Without you I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off.

Shiro finished it.

“Without us you wouldn’t have reported it?”

A nod.

“Maybe,” Shiro said softly. Probably, he admitted to himself. Lance had been dead set on hiding it before Hunk’s discovery. “But you Lance, _you,_ were the one that told us when you could have made up something else. _You_ still made the decision to go to the police. You could have said no. You didn’t. And _you_ are the one that inspired those other victims to come forward. You are brave, Lance. And Wilde is the coward.”

“But—”

“He is a coward,” Shiro repeated. “He hurts and manipulates and uses people and when things aren’t going his way he twists them rather than facing them head on and accepting the consequences. He is wrong. He is going to face justice and he’s going to pay dearly for what he’s done.

“But,” Shiro’s voice softened. “I know that doesn’t make things right now okay. Not at all. What he did on TV… that wasn’t just cowardly, it was cruel. And I’m so so sorry you have to keep suffering because of that… that _monster.”_

Lance sniffled.

“But you know what I do know? I know that you are going to get through it. You are stronger than you think you are, Lance. You can do this. I know you can. And Wilde does too. He’s afraid because he knows that you are stronger than him. He knows you’re right. And so he tries to make you look wrong, to discredit you, to make others afraid to speak out.  But people are going to see through him just as they did before, they’re going to see how brave you are. They’re going to support _you,_ Lance. _We_ are going to support you. And we’re all going to get through this, together. Okay?”

Silence fell, only the faint sound of the dripping from the shower faucet and Lance’s heavy breaths filling the small space.

And then...

“...okay.”

The word was soft but Shiro felt something in him loosen.

“Okay,” Lance repeated. He shifted slightly, eyes lifting to meet Shiro’s, gaze steady despite the tear tracks.

“Okay, what?” Shiro clarified gently.

“I’m… I’m not a coward,” Lance said, hand tightening in Shiro’s jacket. “And… I’m… _we’re_ going to… to get through this.”

“Yeah we are, buddy,” Shiro murmured. “We all are.”

Lance let out a sound that could have been a sob but it was lighter than that.

 _“Gracias,”_ he whispered. “Shiro… _gr-gracias.”_

Shiro just hugged him tight.

xxx

Hunk watched the scene in front of him, content to observe.

Lance was smiling, a small, soft thing, as he deftly braided Pidge’s shortened hair as she sat between his outstretched legs, chattering some story that involved her brother and their family dog.

Hunk wanted to cherish it for forever.

It was Sunday evening, four days after they’d learned of the interview and the rest of the world learned about Lance’s identity.

They’d been long days.

Hunk had been bombarded when he returned to campus Thursday afternoon, people he didn’t know somehow knowing that he was friends with Lance. Had he known? they asked. Was it true? Where was Lance? Had Lance really had sex with a professor? Why would he say that about Wilde? What about the police report claims? Had Lance been paid to have sex? Was it because of his grades?

 _No comment,_ Hunk had muttered, ducking through the crowds for his dorm.

He kept repeating it.

He didn’t even _know_ these people. They probably didn’t know Lance.

A hand had latched onto Hunk’s elbow just before he made it into the dorm and he’d whirled, about to demand didn’t they know what no comment meant, but the words died on his tongue as Cherese Spears looked at him.

_"Is Lance okay?"_

That was her only question.

 _"He… he will be_ ," Hunk had said, mouth speaking before his brain and instantly regretting it. No comment. That was supposed to be his answer.

Spears had just given him a sad, soft smile but it had eased Hunk. That wasn’t the look of someone doing this to be mean. He remembered Garcia’s text and untensed further.

_"Can… can you tell him me and the girls… we’re thinking about him? And if… if there’s anything he needs, anything we can do to help, then please…"_

Hunk had felt his throat growing tight and he’d managed a nod.

He’d known realistically that not everyone would be swayed by Wilde’s words, as convincing as they were. It was nice to be reminded.

It was nice to see support and respect for Lance.

Hunk knew even with that it was going to be an uphill fight.

People wouldn’t be outright hostile, he didn’t think, to Lance’s face. The people that had left those text messages — he cringed even now — had done so anonymously, many of them using blocked numbers and redirects. They were the real cowards, having to sling insults and barbs from the shadows.

And Hunk would never let any of them get close enough to Lance to do so even if they slunk out.

And the ones that had, had _objectified_ him, had merged the stories into some sort of solicitation, into Lance _selling himself_ because of a grade… he shook. He would never, _never,_ let them so much as lay eyes on Lance.

But even if no one said anything directly to him Hunk knew that wouldn’t stop the whispers and stares. It wouldn’t stop the questions, the curiosity, the gossip and rumors. And as nosy as Hunk was he generally knew when to keep his head out of other people’s business.

A lot of people here wouldn’t have the same restraint.

He’d gathered up a few day’s worth of clothes, Lance’s schoolwork (even though he doubted he’d be able to concentrate on it but at the same time maybe he would want to to have that bit of normal and routine), and made his way back to where he’d parked Shiro’s car.

When he’d arrived back at the apartment and heard Lance crying his first instinct was to go there, to comfort him.

But he’d heard Shiro and stopped.

He’d forced himself not to listen even with the door open (the frame was cracked, he noted, he could fix that, he could at least fix something broken here) and instead reorganized Shiro’s silverware drawer.

When Lance and Shiro had emerged about twenty minutes later they’d both been wet, Lance _dripping,_ but… but Lance had been calm.

Steady.

And Hunk had felt both pride and relief swell up.

Things weren’t okay right now… but they would be.

And that hope, that sense of belief, was what mattered.

Lance had asked if Pidge and Keith could come over that evening.

They’d ended up having a giant slumber party, not doing too much in the way of talking but watching movies and playing some video games and just sitting together. Hunk had watched Lance pull Pidge into a tight hug, whispering something in her ear that had made the girl squeeze him back just as hard and she’d commandeered a spot by his side all night.

Lance hadn’t slept well that evening, curled up on Shiro’s bed with Hunk while everyone else flopped about the room, but each time he’d awoken, waking Hunk with him, he’d been calmed back to bed, either via Hunk, twice Shiro one time Keith, sitting and holding his hand and telling him he was safe, and the last time Pidge, who wormed her way onto Lance’s other side and she and Hunk kept him sandwiched and safe between them, Pidge curled up with her head resting on Lance’s chest and the sight had made Hunk’s own tight with joy at how peaceful Lance looked.

When he fell asleep following Pidge’s arrival to the bed at just after 0600 and remained that way for three hours despite the morning noise it had been a breath of relief from all around that maybe, maybe, things were going to be better already.

He’d met with his therapist later that morning, coming back from the appointment with a whispered three scale, which honestly was more than Hunk had been expecting.

Was he really doing… okay? Hunk had asked carefully. He knew how Lance could wear masks, could even fool himself.

He had been terrified yesterday, shaking and scared throughout the overnight.

Now he was calm. Hunk was grateful for it but…

But was it real?

The thing he’d been scared of most at this point was people finding out, Lance had whispered. And… now everyone knew.

Hunk didn’t quite follow.

“ _Dr. Fahari… she said… I’ve been hiding, when I… when I pretend.  But, but now that it’s out there… I don’t have to hide anymore. I’m… I’m scared of other things now."_ Lance had shuddered, squeezing his eyes tight, no doubt thinking of so many things; the texts, the reactions, the trial. “ _But… but I… I can’t keep being scared, Hunk. I can’t. It… it doesn’t feel good. It hurts here,”_ he gestured at his chest. _“And I can’t breathe and, and—"_ he broke off taking in a noisy inhale.

And as much as it had pained him Hunk remained where he was.

This was…

This was good.

Lance was talking. Feeling.

_Processing._

He wasn’t retreating like he had after _it_ had happened. He wasn’t insisting he was fine.

This was good.

“ _So I… I’m trying to… to,"_ he had swallowed. _“Be brave. Shiro and Coran. They said… they said that. And… and…”_

 _“And it’s true,”_ Hunk had softly. “ _Lance, it’s true. And hermano, I’m… I’m so so proud of you. And more than that…”_ he’d reached forward then, pulling Lance into a gentle hug that Lance melted into, “ _you should be so proud of yourself.”_

And Lance’s shy smile was one of the most beautiful things Hunk had ever seen.

On Saturday Matt brought Lance’s phone, retrieved from the police department and with a new phone number. All of the previous vulgar texts and voicemails had been wiped but Matt said the police did have copies. He didn’t think Lance should listen to them or read them, but, if he wanted to they were there.

Lance had shaken his head.

Matt had had the police leave a number of messages intact.

There were a few more from unknown numbers, and a few from known ones Lance had had saved;  Spears and both Emma and Calli McClain, and some Hunk vaguely recognized as other students — Nathan Stevens and Ali Patel and Jessica Underhill — and all of those were messages of support; they believed him, they were sorry, they were thinking of him, they hoped he was okay.

Lance had cried and hugged the phone to his chest.

He’d announced that evening he was going to return to classes on Monday.

He had to, he’d said softly. He couldn’t hide forever. That… that was just going to make it worse.

Hunk had never felt more proud or more scared.

He and Lance didn’t have any shared classes this semester and not with Pidge or Keith either. He’d be alone and—

No.

Not alone. Hunk had to remind himself that there were other people that cared about Lance, that wanted to help. All those girls in his English class for sure would make sure he was doing okay and he knew there’d be others too.

He also knew there’d be plenty who would, while not outright be likely cruel, would whisper or make comments meant to be overheard. And staring. He knew there’d be staring. And a few months ago he knew eyes on Lance was only an excuse for Lance to preen but now any extra attention made him hunch in, desperately pull down sleeves and his shirt hem even though there was no need.

Lance had said he would be okay.

His words had been soft but they were strong.

He wanted to do this.

And Hunk would not stand in his way.

They were putting a  new protocol into practice though, which Lance had agreed to.

He wasn’t going to walk between classes (or to the cafeteria or the dorm or really anywhere) on his own; he’d have an escort of Hunk or Pidge or Keith or even Shiro for at least the first week so no one could press him for questions he didn’t want to answer. Lance had been adamant on that: he did not want to talk about _it_ , in any way, outside of with them.

Enough had already been said. He didn’t want anything else to be added as fuel, as taken out of context, as a way to twist things to Wilde’s favor.

Sunday had rolled around now and it was the calm before the storm of unknowns.

Hunk and Shiro had been kicked out of the apartment earlier by Matt, who wanted to talk with Lance about some of the court proceedings. Lance had already told Hunk that they were still going to proceed as planned; Matt would speak for Lance although not so much to conceal his identity now but rather so Lance did not have to face pointed questions from Wilde’s defense, as they had shown by their stunt with the press that they would be striking very, very painfully.

Lance thought thought now though that maybe… maybe it would be easier to talk about with Matt.

Maybe.

Hunk hadn’t pushed but given him a hug of encouragement.

Hunk had taken the opportunity to take Shiro grocery shopping and show him what food was supposed to look like (putting away all of the frozen meals Shiro tried to put into the cart).

It was a slice of normal.

Hunk didn’t realize how much he’d been missing it.

After returning they’d spent the afternoon doing homework and Lance had tentatively checked his emails (Hunk hovering like a guard dog over his shoulder) for messages from his professors. They’d both been relieved to find only school-related emails as Lance’s email had a string of numbers after it and wouldn’t have been guessable by the general public.

His Facebook had been a different story.

Coran had already been through it, documenting messages and wall posts made before Pidge had set it to private, but nothing had been deleted.

Lance had paled at the bombardment, most of these ones from unknown users posting comments about his looks and trying to solicit him for sex, and had closed the tab.

Not now, he’d whispered. Later. Later he’d go through and mass-delete them but right now… right now he couldn’t look at them.

And that was okay.

It was all about steps.

Lance was still processing, still acknowledging.

After that they’d made the rest of the evening a more light-hearted one; Keith and Pidge coming over and they’d played video games and card games and Hunk and Keith with Lance’s assistance had put together a giant taco bar dinner and they’d all been having _fun._

Lance was still quiet but Hunk preferred that to the act of normal like he’d done at the basketball game. This was _real_ and even though he wasn’t being loud as he normally was, both in volume and mannerisms, he wasn’t withdrawing or hiding.

He was there.

Things had quieted now, Keith and Shiro talking quietly on the futon, Keith looking softer than Hunk had ever seen him as he rested his head against Shiro’s shoulder and looked nearly asleep _,_ and Pidge was getting her hair done by Lance, who said he used to do his sisters’ and while he’d winced at that, likely thinking of his older sister, he’d pushed on and said it was soothing to him.

Hunk had teasingly tried to get Keith to volunteer — “ _That mullet, man, it could use some TLC” —_ and been met with the most horrified stare he’d ever seen.

Lance’s wheezing laugh had made it even better and Keith’s expression had gentled into a smile.

He still said no.

Hunk went back to quietly loading Shiro’s dishwasher, the gentle hum of conversation and smiles continuing on.

He knew tomorrow was going to be difficult in more ways than one. But looking at Lance now, at how far he’d come yet again, was a reminder to Hunk that Lance _was_ brave. He was strong.

And no matter what happened he was going to be okay.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
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> Edit: 05-23-19; quick head's up, _Trying So Hard to Breathe_ will be on break next week. Next Tuesday is the first day of my new job (!!!) and unfortunately I still tie far too much of my emotional state into comment responses and given said responses the last couple weeks on, well, everything, it’s just better for me not to be dragging myself down on a day as important as that. Perhaps someday I won’t care so much but that day is not today (or next Tuesday xD).


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning notes:** This chapter has an attempted sexual assault. Attempt is the key word and it is nothing graphic but it does contain vulgar language and suggestive imagery. Please be advised.

“I knew it. I knew there was something wrong with you.”

Lance jerked his head up at the voice, eyes widening before something more curdled his stomach as the words sank in.

Ben Hart was standing in front of the storage room door and there was something _dark_ in his expression.

“H-Hart,” Lance stammered, taking a step back.

There was nowhere to go.

Just shelves full of boxes like the one he’d delivered for Professor Nyma behind him full of lab equipment. She’d asked if he’d be willing to take the box from their recent class project down to put away, her large eyes soft and understanding when he’d approached her to ask to use the bathroom as he needed to get out of the room for a few minutes, from the whispers and stares that he heard and felt no matter how hard they tried to hide them.

His first day back on campus was going both better and worse than he thought it would.

No one had really been outright hostile; there’d been no cruel comments or even charged ones made at him. No one had catcalled or made some innuendo or sex joke. No one had asked him about Wilde or the interview or anything.

It probably helped that Keith,who had been Lance’s escort nearly all day so far, looked ready to kill anyone who got within so much as five feet of Lance, and Hunk, despite his gentle nature, had cut a pretty intimidating figure when they’d moved back into the dorm room that morning and then walked him to his first class.

But even in classes no one had approached him to ask what had happened, if it was true (even though at this point everyone knew it was, at least to where he’d… he’d, with Wilde...) or make any sort of demeaning comment or insinuation that Lance was a liar, a coward or even a lewd comment on his appearance.

As Matt had said, people like that were the cowards who had to hide behind anonymity. They wouldn’t show their faces here.

The only people that had approached had been _kind,_ offering quiet support and condolences that _that_ had happened and they believed him and the police.

Lance was still reeling.

This wasn’t…

Wasn’t what he’d thought would happen.

But there were still whispers and Lance could feel eyes constantly on him. They might not be asking, might not be pushing, but everyone wanted to _know._ They’d heard Wilde’s side, now they wanted his.

Lance couldn’t do that.

He’d managed to talk more with Matt but they still hadn’t talked about _it,_ about the details. That was still too personal, too intimate, too _raw._ Wilde had painted a very generic picture, leaving it open to interpretation _what_ exactly had happened between them, allowing people to fill in the gaps themselves.

And based on some of the messages Lance had seen on his Facebook people had some very vivid, disgusting fantasies, most remarking, if not on his appearance to which made his stomach twist, on how _flexible_ he was from a number of his photos, and what they would do with that.

He knew what Wilde had done with it.

He felt sick thinking about it even now.

He couldn’t think about it let alone talk about it and definitely not with a bunch of strangers.

No.

He’d made it through two classes and lunch without any major incident or breakdown even though his stomach was a mess of knots and he could feel his skin prickling under the scrutiny, no doubt picking apart every detail of him.

They’d seen all of him now. The person he was before it. The quiet, withdrawn version coming back from break. The version of himself he’d tried to portray the last few weeks to be _normal_ and throw off suspicion.

And now this one.

Quiet like before but, he thought, not so pathetic looking, not so weak. He was trying. He was talking, even if in very quiet murmurs, to those who came up to him with a word of thanks or at least an acknowledgement with a head nod. He was taking notes, attempting to follow the lectures.

He had told Shiro and Hunk and everyone that he could do this. That he wanted to do this.

So he forced himself to keep going.

He couldn’t keep hiding.

Everyone knew now.

There was nothing worse that could happen.

Telling himself that still didn’t make it all better, but it did help.

But now he was in his third and final class of the day and he was… he was wrung out. Acting, while exhausting in its own right, had given him a buffer to all of the rumors.

Now he had none.

And they were no longer rumors.

He just… just needed a break from it. For a moment. From all of the eyes, whether they be good intentioned or curious or malicious or judgmental, from all the whispers.

He just needed a moment.

Professor Nyma had understood. She’d told him the storage room was two floors down in the basement level, a small trek. She’d given him the key and told him to take his time.

She’d told him she was so sorry he’d been hurt.

Lance had managed a nod and a wavery smile at her words, her kindness, before he’d fled with the box in hand.

He’d barely been in the storage room for a minute, drawing in noisy inhalations to calm himself down, to collect himself enough to return to the last twenty minutes of his final class, when now Hart had shown up.

He’d followed him from their shared class with Professor Nyma, Lance realized with a sudden jolt.

Why?

What… what did he want?

There was a gleam in Hart’s eyes, something sick and dark and _cruel._

Lance felt his heart stutter.

“But you were never sick, were you?” Hart stepped in, pulling the door shut behind him.

Trapped.

His breath hitched.

_Dios._

“Hart—”

The other boy stepped closer, nearly toe to toe now, and Lance cut off, pulse pounding in his ears.

“You were just blowing off all the professors. What a _whore.”_ Hart leaned in, chest pressing against Lance’s and breath hot on his face.

Lance flinched.

 _“_ No, I—”

“Shut up.”

“Hart, _please,”_ his voice was small.

He didn’t know what he was asking.

His hands remained at his sides.

Pathetic.

Weak.

_Complacent._

What was Hart going to do?

 _“_ You kiss ass to get in here too? Huh?” Hart demanded. “That’s the only way a loser like you  could have made it into GGU. That’s the only reason you’re so high in the class rankings, huh? The only reason you made Blaytz’s list? You’re just a _whore.”_

“N-no, that’s—”

“Shut up, you slut,” Hart growled low, hands _slamming_ into the shelf on either side of Lance’s head. “Shut up.”

And Lance did, trembling, at the sheer _hate_ in Hart’s voice.

Trapped.

_Dios._

“The only thing I want that slutty mouth of yours doing is showing me what’s so special about it. Come on. Show me what’s so fucking special about you.”

Lance shook his head against the shelf.

No.

“No,” he managed to choke out. “Hart, no. That’s… that’s. No. I’ll… I’ll report you, I’ll—”

“Please,” Hart sneered. “Like anyone is going to believe you after what you pulled with Wilde. You little _bitch._ I’ll make you eat those words and,” his sneer morphed to a smirk, “a lot more.”

Hart leaned back then but there was no relief as his hands went to his belt.

Lance paled.

Finally, finally, something kicked in and he made to move, to sidestep, to _get out get away why was he still standing here?_ Get to the door, get to the door get to the—

Hart reached out and grabbed his hair, fingers twisting and Lance gasped at the sudden pain.

A moment later his head was being _dragged_ down and he was forced to follow it lest his neck be snapped and his knees smashed into the floor.

He barely felt it.

_Dios Dios Dios._

“There you go, on your knees where you belong,” Hart smirked.

This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

“Let me go,” Lance whimpered, his hands rising up to wrap about Hart’s arm that was still connected to his hair, eyes blurring with tears.

It did no good.

Hart was solid muscle.

He couldn’t stand, couldn’t find purchase on the floor as Hart held him down from above while his other hand went back to working the waistband of his jeans.

“Hart, stop,” Lance pleaded, scratching now at the arm, straining to break free of the grip.

Helpless. “I don’t… I don’t want this. Please, stop.”

Pathetic.

He… he was going to make him…

No.

Please.

_Dios, por favor._

“St-stop,” Lance choked out. “I said no.”

Because consent had gotten him into this mess in the first place and he needed to say it, needed to make sure it was heard.

Hart ignored him.

Lance tried to get up again and the pull on his hair tightened and he was pushed backwards, feet colliding with a shelving unit.

The other boy’s hand was inside his boxer shorts now, pulling himself free.

“No biting,” the larger boy warned. “Or I’ll see what else makes you such a good fuck toy.”

Lance let out a sob.

His words had fallen on deaf ears, his strength was no match.

It didn’t seem to matter if he said yes or no.

It was going to happen anyways.

And just like before…

It would be his word against another’s.

Hart pulled back on Lance’s head, forcing his eyes up to where Hart leered down.

“Now open wide.”

xxx

Keith wasn’t sure what exactly made him, for the first time in his college career, ask to use the restroom.

Okay, fine, he knew. It was that giant mocha latte from the university coffee shop Hunk had made him finish after the other boy said it was too sweet and Keith _loved_ sweet things and didn’t everyone know that? No? Oh let him—

Keith had grabbed the drink to shut him up before everyone around them discovered Keith Kogane, forever grumpy and aloof, had a sweet tooth.

Lance’s soft laugh had at least made the entire situation a little better (and no doubt the reason Hunk had done so, anything to draw a smile from Lance on his long first day back) and Hunk had been right, Keith did really enjoy the latte.

So Keith knew why he’d had to use the facilities.

He wasn’t sure why though he hadn’t gone straight back to class.

Instead his feet had carried him down a few staircases to the basement level of mostly storage rooms and old lab classrooms. Nothing of note. He didn’t think he’d ever actually been down here before.

He was poking his nose into an empty classroom, wrinkling it at the sight of the old desks, when he heard something.

He paused.

Again.

A sort of thump.

Rat?

It wasn’t coming from inside the classroom though so Keith ducked back out, listening for it again.

That time he heard muffled voices.

Ugh. He did not want to catch people making out.

He was turning to head back down the hall when that strange feeling that had sent him wandering made him stop.

“What the hell?” he muttered, scuffing his shoe on the old tile floors.

Something told him not to leave.

Not yet.

Fine. It’s not like he really wanted to do more proofs anyway.

He turned and made his way back towards the voices.

They were still muffled but starting to sound clearer.

 _“—on your knees where you belong,”_ came one of them, a deep baritone.

Keith paused.

That didn’t sound like a pair of lovers.

 _“Let me go,”_ came a second voice, higher.

Still too deep to be female.

And familiar.

A sob. _“Hart, stop.”_

Keith’s stomach bottomed out.

Ben Hart.

And Lance.

_“I don’t… I don’t want this. Please, stop.”_

Holy fucking shit.

Where were they?

Holy fuck where were they?

The voices were echoing in the old level and poorly insulated walls.

 _“St-stop,”_ Lance sounded. _“I said no.”_

There was the sound of a scuffle, another moan of pain.

Keith felt it coming from the wall next to him.

No door though.

Where was the door?

He careened around the corner of the hall, desperately seeking an entrance.

 _“No biting,”_ came Hart’s voice. “ _Or I’ll see what else makes you such a good fuck toy.”_

Lance let out a sob.

Keith saw red.

He also, finally, saw a door.

_“Now open wide.”_

Keith’s hand was on the door knob just as the words finished and he _slammed_ it open, feeling the impact reverberate up his arm.

It had nothing on the sight of Hart and Lance, the latter in a forced kneel on the ground and Hart over him, pants dropped and forcing Lance’s head towards him.

Keith let out a wordless scream of absolute rage and _charged._

Hart was about a foot taller and had almost eighty pounds on him. He was built like a tank.

Keith still took him down.

They crashed into the shelves, Hart taking the brunt of the impact and he fell with a shuddering thump, having released Lance before the impact as though having two arms would help. Keith scrambled on top of him, dug his hands into the blond hair, lifted, and _smashed_ Hart’s face into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Third time he heard the crack of a broken nose.

Hart let out a muffled scream, kicking out his legs and flailing his arms and Keith in turn wrapped his legs about Hart’s torso and his arms about the thick neck and _squeezed._

The larger boy went still with a gasping breath.

“K-Keith,” Lance was sitting now, legs splayed on either side of him and face white, gaze highlighted by tears darting from Keith’s face to Hart’s smushed against the ground.

“Lance,” Keith breathed, his heart thundering through his chest. “You, you okay?”

In whatever that meant in this context.

He got a mute nod.

“Ko—” Hart tried to groan and Keith squeezed his neck tighter.

“Can you call the police?” Keith asked.

Lance trembled. “I…”

He didn’t look to be in any state to do so.

“Call them, put it on speaker,” Keith said.

Lance didn’t move.

“Lance,” Keith said more firmly and terrified ocean eyes finally met his. “Call 911.”

Lance gave a jerky nod and dug his phone out of his jacket pocket, pressing the digits and then shakily holding it out towards Keith.

_“911, what is your emergency?”_

“I’m reporting an attempted rape,” Keith said.

Beneath him Hart shifted. “What? No. That’s not—” Keith dug his fingers into his jugular.

“ _What is—?”_

 _“_ Galaxy Garrison University, Merkls Hall, basement level,” Keith cut in. “Assailant has been stopped. Victim is…” He looked up and met Lance’s eyes. “Going to be okay.”

Keith would make sure of it.

“ _Police are en route now along with an ambulance. Can you describe any injuries to the victim?”_

Lance gave a shake of his head, pupils still pinpricked in wide eyes.

“Nothing physical,” Keith reported. “The asshole though might have a broken nose.”

Hart let out a groan below him.

Lance’s arm holding the phone was starting to shake even more.

“ _Campus police have entered your building and are proceeding downstairs and officers are three minutes out. Please remain on the line until they have made contact.”_

Keith could hear heavy footsteps now, the crackle of a radio.

“In here!” he called.

The footsteps moved closer.

“They’re here,” he told the dispatcher. “I’m hanging up now.” He nodded at Lance even as the dispatcher tried to say something and she was cut off on what might have been “wait.”

A moment later two officers were in the doorway.

Keith saw their eyes widen as they caught sight of Lance.

Everyone recognized him now.

Lance trembled and ducked his head down.

One of the officers pressed on her radio. “Someone twenty-one Shirogane. Now.” She dissolved into chatter on the radio while her partner stepped through the doorway, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

“I need you to step away from the subject, sir,” he said to Keith and Keith reluctantly released his bruising grip and carefully stood, stepping over Hart’s bulk.

Hart immediately tried to move and the officer snapped, “Stay down and do not move.”

Hart froze. Something that sounded like a moan of fear escaped him.

Keith felt vindictive glee curl in his chest.

Good.

Let him suffer now.

Keith made his way to where Lance was and knelt next to him, placing a careful arm around his back.

Lance leaned into it with a muffled sob and Keith saw the officer twitch, a fleeting look of sympathy crossing his face before it was replaced with a hardened glare at Hart.

The other officer had finished her radio conversation and she beckoned at them. “Can you two step out of the room, please?”

“Lance?” Keith asked quietly. “You okay to go?”

Another nod.

Lance uncurled from his position and Keith, bracing a hand on his elbow, helped him stand. He swayed for a second, eyes landing on Hart, but then turned and made for the door.

Keith followed like a guard at his back.

“Just here, please,” the officer gestured to an empty classroom next to them. “Garrison City Police have reported they are en route and will be taking charge.” Her eyes, a cool gray, softened ever so. “Are you both all right?”

Lance gave another mute nod and Keith did the same.

She didn’t press further.

Keith guided Lance to the teacher’s desk in the room and into the large wheeled chair and then knelt down next to it.

“What can I do?” he asked softly.

In answer Lance pushed a hand across his lap and Keith took it in his own. Lance wrapped his fingers about it and held on as though it was the only thing grounding him.

Maybe it was.

Keith squeezed back just as tight.

There was a flurry a couple minutes later in the hallway and the squawk of radios.

Hart’s voice sounded in there. “ _—not like that! I wasn’t going to—”_

“— _right to remain silent_. _Anything you say can and—”_

Keith caught sight of Hart being led past the door.

His pants were still hanging wide open and showcasing clearly what he’d tried to do and the boy’s face was bright red and not all of it as from the blood coating his lower half.

Keith felt his lips curl with grim satisfaction.

“Lance!” Shiro was in the doorway a moment later. His eyes widened as he caught Keith’s. “Keith? Wh-what are you…?”

He shook his head, waved a hand for nevermind, not right now, and Keith couldn’t agree more. Instead he crossed the room in a few steps and took a knee next to Keith.

“Lance, buddy, hey.”

“Shiro,” Lance whispered.

His face crumpled a moment later.

Shiro was catching Lance as he practically toppled out of the chair, wrapping one arm around him and one around Keith, pulling them both in close.

Lance didn’t let go of Keith’s hand but brought his other one up and tangled it in Shiro’s jacket.

Keith felt all of his anger at Hart blink out in that instant.

It was replaced with only a sick sadness.

Why?

Why did this have to keep happening to Lance? He was trying _so hard_ to move forward, to move past what had happened and this…

Keith wondered how much damage Hart had just done.

It was his first day back.

_Why?_

“You’re okay,” Shiro murmured, “you’re okay, buddy. I’ve got you. Keith’s got you. We’re here. You’re okay.”

And that was all it took for Lance to start sobbing, words mixed in with his tears.

“I, I thought… I thought…”

“I know, I know,” Shiro soothed.

“I said no,” Lance cried. “I said no.”

“I know you did, buddy.”

“I said no,” Lance repeated, the word mingled with his tears. “I said no. I said no.”

Keith caught Shiro’s eyes over Lance’s head and he was certain the same grief was reflected back at Shiro.

“I said no. I said no. I s-said no.”

Lance continued to say it like a prayer.

He said it until a man who announced himself as Coran arrived, Keith’s first visual of the detective. He had a feeling a moustache wasn’t supposed to look so… so _sad._

He was asked to leave the room and wait in a secondary classroom and numbly did so.

He dully wondered what the rumor mill on campus was going to cook up now.

xxx

Shiro was tired.

He had a headache, a raging pulse behind his eyes.

The trial in a little over two weeks was supposed to be what was making him go gray.

Not this.

Not again.

His gaze flicked to Lance, slumped over an interview room table at the police department, a jail blanket draped over his back and Shiro’s jacket folded and acting as a pillow.

Tear tracks stained both the jacket and the tan cheeks.

At least he was resting now, even it was purely out of exhaustion.

God.

Shiro wanted to punch something so bad.

The six-foot-two blond asshole in cell six was his preferred choice but Coran had told him no although he’d looked almost disappointed.

Shiro had to content himself with the booking photos he’d been shown that depicted a ring of hand-shaped bruises around the thick neck and the bruising under his eyes and dried blood under his nose all courtesy of Keith, who fortunately was going to escape battery charges with the code of self defense on behalf of another. Small fortunes in this shitty day.

It was almost 2000 hours and they’d been here all afternoon, both to answer Coran’s questions for the investigation and, honestly, to keep Lance off campus where, as Shiro had been informed the rumor mill was going nuts once more and Lance did not need to be in the center of that.

When police had swarmed the building (drawing every eyeball in the vicinity) and then later emerged with the asshole — Hart — being led out in handcuffs people were going to talk.  

And while fortunately so far Lance’s name had been mum there were definitely some who knew, mainly the students in Lance and Hart’s class and his professor, that Lance was likely in some way involved.

Shiro had been getting updates via Hunk on that, most assuming at this point that Hart had gotten into a fight with someone and still so far no one knew who. Shiro had relayed what had actually happened and asked that Hunk keep Pidge in the loop too.

He knew the speculation would get more intense once the arrest charge was released: one count of attempted criminal sexual assault.

And Lance…

Lance had apologized as if somehow this was his fault.

 _“No, buddy, no,”_ Shiro had whispered, horrified. _“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”_

Lance had just shaken his head.

Coran had talked to Keith too, who had corroborated Lance’s version of events that he’d heard through the door and walls.

Hart, meanwhile, had tried to plead it was a joke, he wasn’t actually going to do anything.

The evidence (literally caught with his pants down) and testimony begged to differ.

He was being transported to the county jail in about an hour where he’d be held without bond until he appeared in front of a judge in the morning and would then need ten percent of fifty thousand to post.

The only other positive thing to take away from this was that despite what could have happened… didn’t.

Shiro still didn’t like to entertain the thought of how different things would be if Keith not shown up.

It was stupid. Hart was an idiot, one of the biggest ones Shiro had ever met. Lance knew now what to do. He would not have kept quiet (a point Shiro had asked him and been relieved when he’d gotten a quiet affirmative that he’d have called Coran) and then Hart would be charged with actual sexual assault.

The asshole should be thanking Keith. He had been downgraded from a class 2 felony to a class 3. Coran said he was going to push for the maximum years under that sentence, two and a half. Hart knew what he’d been doing, Coran had scowled, moustache quivering. It had not been a joke as he claimed. He had fully intended to force Lance to perform oral sex and threatened to do even more should he not comply.

This one, Coran said, would be an open and shut case and if Hart were smart (not that he was, Coran huffed) he would not fight the guilty verdict. It would likely decrease his sentence but it would avoid trial and Shiro could be satisfied with that.

Without a trial there would be no victim names. People could infer all they wanted but Shiro had a feeling Hart was not about to pull what Wilde had done; he had no grounds to stand on, joke or no.

He was a bully, Keith had quietly told Shiro and Coran. He was in Lance’s year but since they were all on the same track he was peripherally aware of him too. He wasn’t intellectually stupid, no one could be to get into GGU, but he intimidated others into doing things for him and was lazy. He had been picking on Lance this whole semester, which seemed to be out some misplaced anger over class rankings and it had now culminated into this.

He’d have at least a year to think over his stupidity, Coran said, at the Federal Correctional Institution in Phoenix.

A light knock sounded on the door and Coran popped his head around the doorframe.

“We’re all done here, Shiro,” he said gently. “I can take you home, if you’d like. Undercover unit,” he tweaked his moustache.

“That’d… that’d be really great, actually,” Shiro said. He’d sent Keith back to campus in his car a couple hours earlier (against many protests) but there was no need for them all to remain here and Keith had a test tomorrow he should be studying for. The look he’d gotten was incredulous.

“ _I don’t care about school right now, Shiro. That’s—”_

 _“Lance does,”_ Shiro had interrupted. _“And if he found out you bombed that test because you were overtired and understudied because of him you know how he’ll take it.”_

It was a low blow but it had worked as Keith had flinched. Lance’s grades were what had started all of this after all.

_“Fine. But I hate this.”_

_“Duly noted. And,”_ Shiro had reached out, pulling Keith into a tight hug. “ _I hate it too. But…”_ his hold had tightened even more. “ _I’m so proud of you, buddy. You… thank you. Thank you.”_

“I’ll go bring the car around to the front,” Coran said. “Five minutes?”

“Sounds good,” Shiro said, turning his attention to Lance. He hated to wake him but he really didn’t think there was any safe alternative.

As such he reached out and gave the blanket clad shoulder a gentle shake. “Lance. Buddy.”

It took two more tries but Lance’s eyes fluttered open.

It took only a second for realization to flood hazy blue and Shiro hated the way Lance’s entire body tensed up.

“We’re all done,” he said softly. “Coran is taking us back to campus. I’ll let you decide; do you want to come back to my place for the night or the dorms?”

“Um…” Lance slowly lifted his head up, zipper pattern pressed into his far cheek. His eyes darted down. “Your place. But…”

“I can have Coran pick Hunk up,” Shiro said, hoping he interpreted the silence right. “He can grab some of your clothes too. That work?”

Lance nodded. “ _Gracias.”_

He got to his feet on his own, folding up the prison blanket into a neat square.

Shiro saw that his hands were shaking slightly as he offered Shiro his jacket with a wince.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I… I can wash it if—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro said. “I’ve got a laundry day coming up.”

The car ride to campus was quiet, Lance opting to ride by himself in the backseat and Shiro quietly directing Coran where to go on campus to the dorms.

Hunk slid into the car, a duffel in hand, and Shiro watched in the rearview as Lance immediately leaned against the larger boy who wrapped Lance up completely in his arms with a murmur Shiro couldn’t quite catch but Lance nodded and Hunk’s posture untensed.

They were at Shiro’s not even five minutes later and after quiet thank yous to Coran, Shiro relieved when Lance did so, even meeting the detective’s eyes, they trooped into the small apartment.

Lance retreated to the bathroom to change into pajamas and brush his teeth — Shiro hated that he heard the lock click on the newly fixed door but he understood — and Hunk turned to him, eyes searching Shiro’s face for what Shiro wasn’t sure.

“You okay?”

Shiro blinked.

That was not what he’d been expecting.

“What?”

His voice came out a croak.

Hunk raised an eyebrow even though his worried expression remained.

“Sit down, man,” he said, gesturing at the futon. “You look exhausted.”

Shiro dutifully did so.

His throat felt surprisingly tight.

He wasn’t sure the last time anyone had tried to...to mother _him._

Hunk clucked his tongue and shook out the blanket on the back of the futon and draped it over Shiro’s shoulders. Before Shiro could figure out what to say to this development Hunk was puttering around his kitchen, grabbing the carton of milk and digging into a cabinet and emerging with hot chocolate powder.

The hum of the microwave began a few moments later and before Lance had emerged from the bathroom a steaming mug was being pushed into Shiro’s hands and Hunk joined him with a thump and a creak.

“He’s going to be okay,” Hunk spoke softly but the words were filled with conviction.

Shiro found himself comforted by it, somehow.

He was even moreso as Lance emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a baggie sweatshirt, bare toes peeking out from beneath flannel bottoms, and he should have looked small in that get up but instead he looked…

He looked steady.

Calm.

And there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made Shiro’s breath catch.

Determination.

“I’m…” he swallowed. “ I’m okay.” He met their gazes in turn. “Really.”

Shiro believed him.

“I’m still… still a little…scared,” the word came out a breath, “and I feel… shaky. But, but Keith showed up and… and it’s okay. I’m all right. And I,” he sucked in a breath. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Hart did. He was wrong. Just like… just like Wilde.”

It was the first time Shiro had heard Lance say that monster’s name.

He chest swelled with pride and admiration anew for the young man standing before him.

“But, but people think I did,” Lance continued softly. “And I know when the trial happens they’ll learn the truth. They’ll know he was wrong. But…”

He took another steadying breath. “But not everything goes to trial. Not everything is so… public. People like Hart, they, they hurt others because they don’t think they’ll say anything. Or, or if they do they won’t be believed. And it silences victims. It… it makes them hide. And they shouldn’t have to. They… they didn’t do anything wrong.”

Shiro felt his heart picking up tempo.

Was Lance saying…?

“It’s not a good feeling. It’s awful. It hurts,” Lance’s hands clenched at his sides. “And I… I want others to feel _safe._ Like,” bright eyes met Shiro’s before sliding sideways to Hunk, “like you both do for me. I want them to be believed and, and not scared to report it because they don’t think anyone will listen.”

Lance took another breath. “And that’s why I… I want to talk to the media. I want them to know what, what really happened with Wilde. Right now I… I have a voice. I can use it. And then maybe… maybe others will feel safe too.”

Hunk was the first one to move, springing off the futon and wrapping Lance into a tight hug.

Shiro followed a moment later, blinking back tears.

He’d thought of Lance as brave many times throughout this ordeal.

But this?

This was something beyond that.

This was justice and hope and courage and love and bravery beyond description.

Wilde had thought he’d left a broken, terrified boy behind.

And he had, for a little while.

But from that despair had emerged a courageous, selfless, inspiring young man.

And now the world was about to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness."_ \-- Anne Frank 
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with **what you liked about it.** Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do, it means so much ♥


	9. Nine

 

Lance didn’t want to do an interview like Wilde.

It felt too showy, he said. He thought, maybe he could issue a statement? Not a press conference, he’d amended quickly. That was too many people. Too many eyes and sounds and cameras and just… too much. But he could do a statement of some kind, a release.

Shiro had said they should call Matt (who would call Lance’s attorney to run everything by her) and get his opinion on how to proceed and Matt, who had earlier been briefed about Hart and took this new development in stride but the pride in his voice had Lance ducking his head and a blush coating his cheeks, agreed a statement was the way to go.

But, and if Lance was comfortable with it, he thought a video message would be more powerful than just written words.

“ _They’ve seen your face in the context of Wilde’s narrative. Now let’s show them the person behind it.”_

Lance had agreed.

They’d spent Monday night all together drafting it. Tuesday morning before Lance went to class they recorded.

One take only, Matt had said over the phone, barring any external disruptions, or if Lance really, really felt uncomfortable about it. They didn’t want it to be or sound rehearsed. They wanted it be as raw as the words were, as open and vulnerable as Lance felt.

They wanted to make it _real._

“ _You did good, buddy,”_ Shiro had murmured after they’d wrapped up, pulling Lance into a gentle hug and Hunk joining them. “ _You’re being so brave._ _This… this is going to help a lot of people.”_

Matt took charge of it then, having Shiro send the video to him, and said he submit it to the news outlets later that afternoon around 1600 local time, well after Lance had finished up his classes and could be prepared for it when it no doubt made the 1700 hour news. He could call Matt at anytime before 1600 if he changed his mind and no questions asked.

Lance had already determined he would not do so.

He…

He wanted this.

When he arrived back on campus with Hunk it was to a whirlwind of news about Hart. He’d been _arrested_ students whispered back and forth, for _sexual assault._

Lance had felt more than one set of eyes on him.

He had no idea if they knew it was him.

He didn’t add to it.

They’d find out soon enough.

He…

He wasn’t going to hide anymore.

Hiding was exhausting. It was draining. It hurt.

And that was with a full support system. That was with family and friends and friends turned family. That was with a detective who genuinely cared, with a school official who wanted the best for Lance. That was with a therapist who was helping him through it all, coaching him to open up bit by bit and be honest with himself and safely process and cope.

Most r-

Lance paused on the word in his own mind.

He still had yet to say it.

Most _rape_ victims, especially males, didn’t have that.

Most victims suffered in silence.

Most had nowhere to turn.

Lance did.

He had.

And he’d made a difference. Two other victims from Wilde’s assault had come forward because of him. Maybe more had considered it.

But with Wilde’s interview, his callout… Lance wondered how many had gone back into hiding. Had chosen to keep silent. Had thought no one would believe them.

He wondered now if his testimony would inspire them to get help. To tell someone, anyone.

To start _healing._

And now that he’d said his piece, exposed himself in a different kind of way…

Lance didn’t feel so scared.

He felt…

Free.

At peace.

No more hiding.

He had a voice.

He wasn’t going to let Wilde silence it.

Keith had noticed it first, meeting with Lance after his first class to walk him to the main student lounge where they were going to meet with Pidge during a free period.

“You’re standing taller,” he said quietly, a tinge of confusion and surprise in his words but mostly just resembled pride.

“I did something,” Lance said just as quietly, sliding into his spot at their usual table, doing his best to ignore the spring of whispers that began and the sensation of eyes on him as students took note of who had walked in. “I… I only want to say it once, so… wait for Pidge?”

Keith nodded.

He always knew not to push.

Pidge arrived a few minutes later, a whirlwind of energy in a tiny body and a scowl on her face.

“One more person asks me anything about you I am not responsible for my actions,” she said. “I’ll show them just how far I can shove a no comment up their—” she broke off, eyes widening in horror as she looked at Lance.

“It’s okay,” Lance told her quietly.

He was well aware of Pidge’s brand of violence. And she didn’t mean it. Not like that.

Never like that.

Pidge still looked stricken.

“I’m sorry you keep dealing with that,” Lance continued. “Both of you. You… you shouldn’t have to. Soon.”

Pidge’s expression morphed to a confused version with a touch of apprehension. “What… what happened? What’s going on?” She leaned forward. “Are you okay?”

“I,” Lance swallowed. “I made a statement. To the media.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped and Keith’s lips parted ever so.

“It’s not out yet,” Lance said. “But, but probably this afternoon.”

And then he explained why, watching as confusion gave way to acceptance and then to the looks of pride that still heated his cheeks every time.

“Wow, Lance,” Pidge murmured, and she reached across the table for his hand and he took hers in his larger one with a tight squeeze. “That’s… I, I don’t know if I could have done that.”

“You’re sure?” Keith asked, sharp eyes tracing Lance’s face.

Making sure this was what Lance wanted.

Lance nodded.

Keith’s expression softened and he smiled gently. “Then I’m happy for you. And… and while I _hate_ that Hart was the catalyst for this…”

“Me too,” Lance said softly. “But, but it’s less about what he did and what _you_ did, Keith. You… you saved me,” his cheeks darkened. “ _Gracias._ I, I don’t know if I said that yester—”

“I told you, I’ve always got your back. You don’t ever have to thank me for that.” Keith picked up Lance’s other hand where it was resting on the table and gave it a tight squeeze. “I’ll always be there for you.”

Lance ducked his head.

“That’s why,” he whispered. “That. You… you saved me. And yesterday… it could have been… been _really_ bad,” he winced. That really was an understatement. “But it wasn’t. Because of you. And Shiro. And Hunk. And Detective Coran.  And, and it made me want to do the same. Help others. Save them. And, and I know this isn’t really the same—”

“You’re right,” Pidge interrupted. “Because it’s even more badass than tackling small mountain-sized asshole trolls, no offense Keith—”

“None taken, I agree.”

“—and you,” she squeezed his hand, “are going to help so many people. I,” she blinked her eyes and Lance was alarmed to see tears, “I am beyond honored to know you, Lance Esposito.”

And when Lance felt tears prick his own eyes at the sheer _love_ emanating from both of them  the stares that Lance felt on them, growing as Pidge shifted to throw her arms around him in a hug and then Keith gently did the same, didn’t hurt or scare him.

Let them look.

He had nothing to hide anymore.

xxx

_“We start off our evening broadcast with some breaking news. Karen?”_

_“Thanks, Jim. Our studio received a video statement just a bit ago and we have finished verifying that it is indeed from the young man at the center of this recent sexual assault case out of Galaxy Garrison University, Lance Esposito. There’s a lot to be said about this, but for now let’s play the statement.”_

_The screen switched to the Channel 7 logo and then filling it was the backdrop of a small apartment and table, although the focus was on the young man sitting at it, tan hands clasped inside one another atop it and showing off worn sleeve cuffs of the GGU zip-up he wore._

_He was looking at the camera, dark gaze steady although his lips were pressed into a line and a moment later he visibly swallowed before giving a tiny nod._

_“My… my name is Lance Esposito,” he said softly, but evenly. “I’m eighteen years old. I’m a freshman at Galaxy Garrison University where I’m, I’m in the the space exploration and piloting track. I’m also…” he trailed off, took a breath and continued. “I’m also a victim of sexual assault.”_

_His eyes darted down to a paper lying between his arms before he looked back up at the camera. “I, I was failing my astrophysics class,” he said. “I thought I’d been doing well, but… but when I got poor marks I didn’t argue them. At the end of last semester I failed a paper that would have, no matter what I scored on the final, put me into academic probation and… and according to university policy I would have been expelled.”_

_He paused again and there was a indecipherable murmur off camera to which Lance gave a small nod and then audibly took in another inhale._

_“That was when the professor, Andrew Wilde, told me he had a, a solution to help. He asked me to his office later to discuss it. I thought… I thought it would be an extra assignment, maybe another paper. But he… he told me…”_

_He swallowed._

_“He told me to undress.”_

_The words hung there._

_“I tried to leave. I, I told him I was going to tell the administration. And he,” Lance swallowed again. “He said if I left he would fail me. I’d be expelled. He told me no one would believe me since I… I was a student one grade away from expulsion and he was a tenured professor. He brought up my family, our, our financial situation, and I…”_

_His hands were trembling on the table._

_“My family sacrificed_ everything _to get me here,” he said. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to them. And so I… I let him…” he winced, fingers digging into his sleeves, “I let him do… do whatever he wanted to me. He, he says it was consensual since I… since I didn’t say no. I didn’t, didn’t fight or protest or… or…” he shook his head. “But it wasn’t. It w-wasn’t. I didn’t say no but I never said yes. And, and I was…” his eyes scrunched closed but not before a salty tear was dripping free and he hurriedly brought a now fully sleeve-covered hand to brush it away._

_“I was scared. I was so scared. And he was…” he broke off again and a voice sounded from behind the camera. “Lo siento,” Lance said, barely audible. “Necesito un segundo.”_

_The camera kept playing while he took in a noisy inhale and visibly tried to calm himself._

_When he opened his eyes there was an overbright shine to them but they were steady again on the camera. “He’d done this before,” he continued, voice even. “A, a lot. He told me that. He threatened, manipulated, others to… to have sex with him,” he winced, shoulders hunching._

_“He changed our grades. Brought up our f-families. Our finances. How, how if we didn’t do this then… then… he’d fail us and we’d be expelled and our, our futures… they...”_

_“He took advantage of us. Of, of me,” Lance whispered. “Of the fact that most males don’t report… don’t report…” he swallowed. “Sexual assault,” he finally said. “Especially… especially not like this. But, but I had friends who found out, who supported me.”_

_His voice grew stronger._

_“They encouraged me to go to the police, who opened an investigation and found out what he did. They found more victims. Two came forward. He, he called us cowards. We’re not. He is. He tried to make us look bad. He exposed my name to discredit me. To scare others from coming forward. He was wrong.” Dark ocean eyes were fixed firmly on the camera now._

_“He’s wrong,” Lance repeated. “People_ will _listen if we speak up. They_ will _believe us. And we, we can do something about people like him. We can make sure they can’t hurt others again. We can get justice for ourselves, for other victims. We_ can _make a difference. We’re victims but… but that’s not all we are.”_

_“I… I didn’t want to do this,” his tone lowered as he waved a hand towards the camera. “I didn’t. It’s… it’s  terrifying. Even after… even after my name was leaked,” he winced again, “I was going to wait for the trial. To let justice speak for me. But… but something happened at school yesterday. I was attacked by a student, who… who thought he could…” Lance shook his head. “He said no one would believe me because of what, what Wilde had said. He believed that. He did. And, and I realized that some victims would believe that too._

_“I’m okay,” Lance said softly. “He was stopped before… before anything happened. But not everyone is. And not everyone has the support I’ve had. And that’s… that’s not okay. And I just… I just wanted to talk to all of those victims, whoever you may be, that… that people will listen. They will believe you. That you can get support. That… that you did not deserve that. And no matter how hard things are right now… they do get better. They do. They will.”_

_He swallowed, hands fisting on the table. “And I’m done hiding. I’m done being silent. I’m done letting a, a monster scare me. I know not everyone feels comfortable or safe to say the same. But, but just know that you are not alone. And…”_

_A smile turned up his lips, soft and gentle. “And we can get through this. Together.”_

_The screen went dark._

_xxx_

The interview was all anyone could talk about the next day.

But unlike following Wilde’s where the stares had been unwelcome, had been terrifying and cruel and judgmental, this time…

This time…

They felt warm.

Kind.

Lance was honestly a little overwhelmed but… but in a good way.

Students he didn’t know, professors he’d never had, were coming up to him throughout the day to express their sympathy for what had happened, their admiration for what he had said, how they were supporting him.

About how they still couldn’t believe Wilde had done that… but that they believed _him._

Gone were the whispers of before that said it was regret, was taken out of context, that it had been an exaggeration, replaced instead with comments about how maybe… maybe things weren’t always as they seemed, that people weren’t always what they presented.

It wasn’t everyone.

Lance had caught sight of two of the professors he’d spotted in the coffee shop that had been laughing about it and they had not looked kindly at him, had bent their heads and whispered. But another one he recognized from there had come up to him and expressed their best for him.

He didn’t know if they believed him still, but… but it was a step.

His escort of Hunk to start and then Shiro became less about needing to potentially protect him and more of trying to get him to classes on time as they kept getting stopped. Lance had so many cards and notes that he was forced to carry his books in his arms as there was no more room in his backpack.

People he did know, those who had previously already made it known they supported him, were even more vocal. Lance had nearly been knocked off his feet when Kelly Garcia had rushed in for a hug as he arrived at their literature class, apologizing a moment later, but Lance had just hugged her back tight and she’d nearly strangled him with her grip then.

Cherese Spears had come up quieter but just as sincere, gripping his hand in her own and then asking permission to give him a kiss, guilt flashing through her eyes.

Lance had inclined his head and this time when she pressed one upon his cheek he didn’t go pale but instead felt a blush steal across his face as she gave the same attention to the other cheek and then a light one on the tip of his nose.

It all felt like a dream.

He kept expecting to wake up any moment, for the concern and care to be replaced with leers and derision but it never changed.

Coran called him during lunch on Wednesday.

Two more of Wilde’s victims had reached out to him. They had seen Lance’s interview. They wanted to help.

 _“I am so proud of you, brave boy,”_ Coran had whispered.

Lance had broken down crying in the middle of the cafeteria.

People had _heard_ him. They were listening.

They were showing the world that they had a voice that could not be silenced.

They were going to make sure Wilde never, ever, hurt anyone ever again.

It wasn’t just Wilde’s case.

Hunk had shown him a news article from a _national_ publication. It was an analysis and discussion of how the case out of a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona, and the testimony from one of its victims was changing the dialogue around male rape cases, and how this could ultimately see an increase of reports of sexual assault victims.

Lance was floored.

No, he’d whispered, protested. That… that was too much. He’d just—

Just nothing, Hunk had cut in. _“Lance… you… you are_ amazing.”

Wilde was responding no comment, Pidge reported to him.His attorneys were saying they were waiting for the trial before discussing further.

“ _He’s so fucked and he knows it,”_ she’d grinned darkly. _“I can’t wait to watch him squirm.”_

Lance found himself agreeing. It’s not that he didn’t disagree, but he couldn’t summon up burning feelings of hate like Pidge and Keith. He did hate him, he hated what he did, hated that he’d hurt not just him but so so many others.  But he couldn’t be angry. Not at this point. He was too tired from all of it, too drained.

He’d rather focus on the positive feelings; the hope and love and support.

But he wouldn’t deny the thought of Wilde feeling scared, of being the one the world was scrutinizing and vilifying now, wasn’t satisfying.

On Wednesday he was approached by yet another student he didn’t know while sitting in the cafeteria with not just Hunk and Pidge but Garcia and some of the other students from his literature class. He’d had all types want to talk to him; nervous ones, hesitant, loud and bold, soft and sweet, ones that wanted to touch his shoulder, others who tucked their hands up as though they didn’t know what to do with them, upperclassmen, fellow freshman, grad students…

But there was something about this student that caught Lance’s attention moreso than the others.

There was something knowing in his gaze.

“ _Hola,”_ he greeted softly, standing a respectable but still close foot away.

“ _Hola,”_ Lance returned, trying not to let his sudden nerves show. Based on the way Hunk was sitting up straighter though, turning slightly in his direction and looking at the other student, he hadn’t done so very well. But Hunk made no other motion than that, clearly waiting for something else to happen.

“ _¿Podemos hablar? ¿En privado?”_ the other boy asked, inclining his head towards the cafeteria exit.

“ _Sí_ ,” Lance responded quietly, looking the other boy over.

He had an idea of who this might be.

Because it was like looking at a version of himself; slightly older but same tan skin, same chocolate hair although his had a slight curl. Same tall, slender figure, although unlike Lance’s worn hoodie and jeans  he was dressed far more professionally in a button-down with a sweater vest and a nice pair of khakis.

“Lance?” Hunk asked, and he felt more attention shifting onto him.

He mustered up a smile. “I’ll be right back. Um…”

 _“_ Tomás,” the other boy filled in.

“Tomás has a message for me. Don’t… don’t eat my brownie, Hunk. I still want it.”

And just like that Hunk’s slightly suspicious look vanished and he let out a chuckle. “ _Lo prometo, hermano.”_

On the other hand Lance could feel Tomás stiffen at the causal inclusion of Spanish and the knowledge that Hunk knew what he’d said.

 _“¿Vamonos?”_ Lance asked, getting up from his seat and gesturing at the older student who gave a jerky nod and headed for the patio.

Lance followed.

It was a slightly chillier March day but not so cold that Lance couldn’t spend a few minutes outside. Tomás led him around the corner where a few potted cacti stood at attention before a smaller sand-garden like eating area with benches. He remained standing but entered the garden, out of sight of the large floor to ceiling cafeteria windows to give them some privacy.

“You know who I am,” he said, turning to face Lance, voice softly tinged with an accent like Lance’s parents and phrasing it as a statement.

“No,” Lance shook his head. “I don’t know who you are. But… but I think… I think you’re like me.”

Tomás inclined his head. “I… I was one of… one of the three.”

Lance’s eyes widened and his mouth parted.

“Detective Coran contacted me,” Tomás continued. “He had questions. I… I had never told anyone. I could not. But… but when he told me there had been another I…” he shook his head. “I had thought it was just me. I did not realize he had… to others… _Lo siento. Es por mi culpa... que estabas herido.”_

“No,” Lance said it sharply. “ _No. No es tu culpa. Es su culpa. Él nos hizo esto.”_

_“Pero—”_

_“_ No _,”_ Lance interjected. “We… we did not do anything wrong. He did. I’m…” he lifted a hand and very, very gently placed it on Tomás’ upper arm and the other boy did not pull away. “I’m sorry you went through that too. Are… _¿Estás saliendo con alguien? ¿Estás recibiendo ayuda?”_

Tomás shook his head. “No. No. I… I am not brave like you. I cannot… I cannot talk about it more. To my advocate for the trial, yes, but... _no más.”_

“You are brave,” Lance told him quietly, ocean eyes meeting the deep chocolate brown. “You are. You… you talked to Coran. You came forward.”

 “Only because you did first.”

“And only because my friends helped me,” Lance countered. “Tomás… without them I… I don’t think I would have said anything either. I _tried_ to hide it at first. But… but my best friend, _mi hermano,_ he… he knew something was wrong. He got me help. I,” he swallowed. “I couldn’t have done this alone.”

Tomás trembled under Lance’s hand.

“If… if you change your mind and, and want to talk to someone… reach out to Dr. Holt. He helped me. He cares. He puts us before the university politics. He’ll help you.”

 _“Gracias,_ Lance,” Tomás said softly. “ _Pero, para mí, sólo quiero olvidar.”_

Lance nodded.

He wasn’t going to push; everyone healed in their own way. But at least he knew now, that the resources were there if he ever wanted them.

“I just… just wanted to… to say thank you. For what you’ve done. For us. For others. I,” Tomás stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I should go now. I don’t mean to keep you. I just wanted to say that. That’s all.”

He took another step back.

“Tomás, _espera,”_ Lance said, taking a step forward to match. _“¿Puedo… puedo abrazarte?”_

Chocolate eyes widened…

And the older boy gave a nod.

Lance stepped forward without hesitation, arms sliding around Tomás’ back, secure but not tight. A moment later a pair of trembling arms wrapped about Lance too.

 _“Gracias,”_ Tomás whispered, breath tickling Lance’s ear. “ _Gr-gracias.”_

The arms tightened, a sob shuddering through the tall frame.

“ _Muchas gracias,_ Lance Esposito.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so proud of my boy ♥ It's taken us a lot of words to get here and Lance has been on quite the journey of ups and downs and twists and turns, but for him it's never been about the destination but the travel to get there. So, so proud ♥
> 
> I also had the amazingly talented Asterein create some art for this final series piece. I avoided sharing it here though until now as it had elements from later chapters not yet published and, most tellingly, a quote from this chapter ;p But please do [go take a look at the gorgeous piece here!](https://asterein.tumblr.com/post/184485497591/and-we-can-get-through-this-together-shooting)
> 
> If you are still here and enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with **what you liked about it.** Kudos are nice but they don’t tell an author anything (as do comments that only say “kudos” and the like >>) about what they have published for your reading pleasure.
> 
> What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction, a prediction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do, it means so much ♥


	10. Ten

“The jury just finished deliberating,” Matt announced softly, entering the small meeting room off of the courtroom. “We’re only waiting on the judge. Did you still…?”

Lance gave a jerky nod, standing from the high-backed chair and peripherally aware of Hunk and Shiro doing the same. “ _Sí._ Yes. I… I’m ready.”

This was it.

The moment of truth.

Three days of trial later and it was finally here.

Lance had chosen, even with his face and name exposed, to let Matt be his advocate and represent him on the stand. Matt had told him later he was grateful Lance had done so. “ _His defense… they were aiming to hurt,”_ he’d confided to Lance after the second day. _“And you shouldn’t have to go through that._ I _don’t want you to have to go through that.”_

Lance had been their prime target, he the only one they had a name and a face to.

Not the other eleven who had filed complaints.

Twelve total. Four times the original amount of victims.

The trial had been pushed back because of it, into early June, as the courts had to review each additional complaint, listen again and again as Wilde’s lawyers pleaded not guilty to all counts, clinging still to his claim that it had been consensual, that he hadn’t tampered with grades, that he had never threatened anyone.

Each new name that came forward was the sound of another nail in the coffin.

Finally though the trial had arrived, as fair a jury pool gathered as there could be, and the court proceedings began. They spanned three days because of how many had come forward.

The defense had stopped asking their invasive questions after day two. They seemed to realize they were fighting a losing battle as each advocate spoke, painting a picture similar to Lance’s: no family, struggling family. Poor economic background and at school on scholarships and work studies and financial aid dependent upon grades. Smart students, testing well in other subjects and classes and the history of fluctuating grades in Wilde’s classes. Threats made to them that if they didn’t have sex with Wilde he would fail them, he would see them expelled. Mentions of his position, his power, to further manipulate them, scare them, no time to think it over.

They called up Coran to testify on behalf of the police department and he’d gone over his investigation, over Lance’s involvement. There’d been video, Matt said quietly, played for the courtroom that showed the moment Wilde had laid eyes on photos of Lance from the hospital (and he’d been warned ahead of time that such a thing had been done but it still sent shudders down his spine) although for Lance’s privacy they had blurred the photos on video and only the jury and judge had seen them in full.

The defense had pulled up professors, long-time colleagues of Wilde’s to testify to his character, of former students of the same that had still stood by the disgraced professor.

But their words had paled in comparison to the thousands on behalf of Wilde’s victims, from the damning police investigation.

Lance had come to the third and final day of the trial and sat in the closed conference room, Hunk and Shiro with him, and on the phone intermittently with his parents who were watching the court proceedings on the news; no video allowed in the courtroom but the media was still diligently covering it.

He had told Matt he wanted to be there for the end, whatever it may be. Matt had warned him there would be a lot of attention on him if he did that; cameras and reporters and of course the mass of public bodies that had crammed themselves in. And not only that… Wilde would be there.

Lance knew that. He hadn’t seen the man since that day in the coffee shop and then again when he’d seen the interview video. His voice still sent prickles down his spine, sometimes the sensation of phantom hands skimming his flesh, a remembered moan in his ear and he still woke some nights with nightmares and some days he had to convince himself to get out of bed and not spend hours underneath the shower.

He was getting better, he was doing so much better, but he knew it would still be a long time before he stopped having bad days. He might still have them sometimes, but he had hope he could control them, could move past them.

Dr. Fahari agreed, telling him at his last session how _proud_ she was of how far he had come. He had been seeing her only twice a month now, which worked better as he was back home for summer break although he was in the Phoenix area staying at Shiro’s for the trial, but it wasn’t because of the distance that the meetings had grown further apart. He was standing on his own now, she told him, and she was only there to guide him now, to keep him on course. He was so strong, she murmured, squeezing his hand. She was so proud.

And so Lance knew what waited for him out there in the packed courtroom.

He still wanted, needed, to do this.

“All right, then out we go,” Matt said, gesturing at the door. “We’re in the front row.”

“You okay?” Hunk was at his side, gripping Lance’s hand in his own.

Hunk’s palm felt sweatier than Lance’s.

He nodded.

“We’re right here, buddy,” Shiro said, squeezing his shoulder.

And with Hunk still holding tight to his hand and Shiro steady at his back and Matt leading the way, Lance exited into the courtroom.

The room, which had been loud but at a typical overcrowded room volume was suddenly _bursting_ with sound as people caught sight of him and squawks of his name began to echo.

Lance sucked in a deep breath and kept following Matt.

He didn’t allow himself to look into the audience or anywhere but Matt’s head, but he could feel Hunk swiveling his around.

“I see Pidge and Keith,” he said, nearly shouting into Lance’s ear to be heard.

The two of them had been attending every day of the trial, squeezed into the public section with a large handful of other GGU students.

Lance gave a nod to show he heard but didn’t say anything.

His tongue felt very thick now and it was taking all he had not to wince at the noise. Matt led him to a bench with a table on it and slipped in first and Lance followed, then Hunk and then Shiro. His attorney, Gloria Snow, was sitting next to Matt and past her were a few other people Lance could only assume were some of the other advocates.

Three rows to the left was the defense.

And Wilde.

He…

He didn’t appear to have changed at all.

He was still put together; a hint of stubble on his face and dressed impeccably in a suit.

His eyes too were the same even from this distance -- warm brown orbs that even now hid the cruelty that lurked behind them -- and a smile with the trace of a smirk of confidence that apparently all of the testimony against him still couldn’t eliminate pulled up his lips as their eyes met.

Lance hurriedly looked away, his heart thumping.

He was glad the rest of the room was so loud.

Hunk’s hand tightened on his.

A door behind the judge’s table opened and an older, heavier set woman, blonde hair streaked with gray, entered.

The judge.

“Quiet down,” she ordered, settling into her chair.

The room fell to a murmur.

The judge turned in the direction of the jury, seated in rows to her right. “Will the jury foreperson please stand?” A thin man, skin tanned liked Lance, rose to his feet. “Has the jury reached a  
unanimous verdict?”

“Yes, your honor,” the man said, voice carrying clearly across the court. He held out an envelope and a younger woman plucked it from his hand and carried it over to the judge.

“The clerk,” Matt whispered to him.

Lance tried to remember to breathe.

The judge opened it, eyes skimming over lines of text. She nodded and handed it back to the clerk.

“Oh God,” Hunk whispered.

Lance held his breath.

“On the charges of twelve counts of manipulation, threatening behavior in the reporting of a criminal sexual assault, evidence tampering, forgery, and most severe the charges of aggravated criminal sexual assault of twelve different individuals the jury finds the defendant…” The clerk paused, looking up. Her eyes locked on Lance’s and he swallowed heavily.

This was it.

The barest smile crossed her face as she finished.

“Guilty.”

xxx

Forty-seven years at the Federal Correctional Institution in Phoenix.

That was the sentence awarded to Wilde at the sentencing hearing that took place two weeks later, with no possibility of parole and his appeal had already been turned down.

He would likely die there, Matt said quietly.

Good, Keith had snarled, his sentiment echoed by Pidge.

Lance couldn’t summon up the vindication, the anger, but he felt something tight release in his chest.

Wilde would never hurt another person again.

Justice had been served.

xxx

In July, Hart pleaded guilty.

He was serving six months in prison and sentenced to six hundred hours of community service.

He’d also been expelled from Galaxy Garrison University.

Lance had been surprised at the university’s involvement but Hunk had vehemently agreed with it and Shiro had more calmly but still strongly sided with Hunk when Lance had called him after Coran had called him with the news.

Hart knew what he was doing, Shiro said. He made his choice and now he got to deal with the consequences of it. He should be _lucky,_ Shiro had said, he got off with that.

And when Shiro phrased it like that…

Lance supposed he agreed.

It could have been so so much worse.

Another mark for justice, Pidge had crowed when Lance had video-called her and Keith to relay the news.

xxx

Lance’s oldest brother called him on his birthday.

He didn’t know what to say, he said. An apology was not enough. He had jumped to conclusions, assumed the worst. He had not been there for Lance when he needed him.

His older sister and other brother had called separately a little later in the day.

They were sorry too. They had been wrong.

They didn’t know what to do now.

Lance wasn’t sure either. They’d hurt him. They’d really hurt him.

But…

But they were his family. He loved them.

He wanted to see them.

It was an awkward meeting that first week of August, a space between them where there never had been.

But his sister had pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his cheek and his brothers had wrapped him up in their arms, and there had been no reservation in their touches, no disgust in their faces.

It wasn’t going to be easy. There was a lot of guilt and hurt feelings and regret and despair they had to sort through.

But they were going to be there for him.

And they moved forward.

xxx

On August fourteenth Lance arrived back on campus to start his sophomore year of college.

He stepped out of Mrs. Garrett’s car without pause onto the curb outside his new residence hall, and turned his head to look out over the campus.

There were no media camped out at the front gates.

The students and parents milling about also unloading barely paid him a second glance, and the stares he did feel slid away within a few seconds.

Normal.

It was a breath of normal.

“Lance!”

A short, brown blur detached from the crowd and he barely managed to catch Pidge before she knocked him into the side of the car from the force of her hug.

“Pidge,” he grinned, wrapping his arms tight about her. He hadn’t seen her since July when she’d come into town to meet him after his therapy appointment, which Dr. Fahari called check-ins now, to see how he was doing, to talk about whatever was on his mind; related to what had brought him first to her office or otherwise.

Lance was grateful the university was still paying for it, insisting he could use the services for as long as he wanted to.

Tomás had opted not to. He’d texted Lance, the two keeping in contact with weekly messages over the summer, back in June that he had considered it, but… but he was moving on in his own way. He had accepted a job with a technology corporation upon graduating that spring and had moved to California for it. He was busy with it and he was volunteering with a Big Brother program now and he sounded so _happy_ and Lance was so proud and happy for him.

“Why do you have so much crap?” Pidge demanded, peering around his side into the car.

“This? This is barely any of it. Mr. Garrett has the truck,” Lance told her. “He got stuck at Second but he should be here soon.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“It’s Hunk’s!” Lance protested. “Well, most of it.”

“That you’re going to use.”

“Well duh.”

“Sheesh,” another voice that sounded peeved but underneath it was amusement, “how much shit did you bring?”

“Keith,” Lance’s eyes lit up.

A moment later Keith was pulling him and Pidge into a careful hug, knocking the back of Lance’s head playfully.

“Aww, a group hug? And Keith, man, that is not a proper hug. You have to do _this,”_ and Lance wheezed as Hunk joined them from the other side, his arms wrapping tight about Lance and Keith and sandwiching Pidge between them who let out a muffled squeak but no protest.

A cheerful honk broke them apart as Mr. Garrett drove up in a large SUV that held the larger items.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Keith groaned although he was grinning.

“Hey, we can’t all conveniently move into already furnished apartments,” Lance shook a finger at him. He felt his smile fall a bit at that. “Speaking of, is, um, Shiro going to--?”

“Is Shiro going to what?” asked a familiar voice and Lance whirled around, expression brightening again.

“Shiro!”

“Hey, buddy,” and large arms wrapped about Lance tightly in a hug and he returned it. “How’re you doing?”

“Good,” Lance said. He looked up meeting the warm charcoal gaze. “Really good.”

And he really meant it.

Shiro gave him another squeeze in response, seeing the truth as well.

“I hate to break up this reunion but that television is not going to move itself,” Mr. Garrett’s baritone sounded. “Or the fridge. Or the beanbag chairs. Or the two floor rugs. Or the humidifier. Or the--”

“We got it, Dad!” Hunk hollered. He shot a rueful grin towards everyone. “Uh, that’s our cue?”

“I report to Houston in two days, I’m not sure it’s safe for me to be handling heavy equipment. I might have to sit this one out,” Shiro said, a twitch of his lips betraying him.

“What, NASA won’t understand you had to stay a week later because you turned an ankle hauling Lance’s shoe collection up three flights of stairs?” Pidge teased, even as she grabbed a box out of the backseat of the car.

“Um, first, I only have like four pairs so that’s hardly a collection,” Lance sniffed. “And two,” his voice softened, “...is there any way you can stay longer?”

He’d just gotten back and Shiro was already leaving.

“Sorry, buddy. But I’ll be back for the Christmas holidays, assuming my apartment is still standing, and we’ll definitely see each other sometime then.”

“Of course it will be,” Keith snorted, a box in his arms as well. “It finally has someone living in it who knows how to cook.”

The two of them began to head into the residence hall, still bickering over what Shiro considered to be cooking, and Hunk ran ahead of them yelling he still needed to check in and get their room keys and to wait up, they didn’t know where they were going.

Chuckling under his breath, Lance grabbed a box too and joined the procession, Pidge behind him, Mr. Garrett behind her and Mrs. Garrett unloading items from vehicles for easier access.

The had to make multiple trips up to their new room, even with the aid of the elevator to which Keith had bulldozed his way into the line for with the fridge, but within the hour they were semi-unpacked, the Garretts had taken off after smothering Hunk with kisses and Lance with tight hugs and then it was just the five of them standing in the dorm room and the hustle and bustle slowly dying down outside as other students wrapped up too.

Lance looked around at them; Pidge flopped on a beanbag and aggressively fanning herself with a notebook, Keith lying on the floor with his mullet falling out of the ponytail he’d pulled it into for the move-in, Shiro sitting on Lance’s desk chair, flipped around, and reading over the move-in packet with a concentrated frown, and Hunk was puttering about filling the fridge from the small cooler they’d brought with.

It was peaceful.

It…

It felt right.

There was no awkward silence. No lingering shadow in the corner or unspoken topic.

It was just five friends turned family gathered together.

They’d been through a lot last year.

Too much.

But they’d come out of it closer. Stronger.

Together.

And Lance knew that no matter what this year brought he would always have them by his side, watching his back, and protecting his heart.

 _Dispara para las estrellas_ , Mamá always told him, _porque tú perteneces con ellas_.

Lance had shot for the stars.

And…

And he knew now, without a doubt, that he was going to land among them.

His gaze moved over the forms of his family, a soft smile pulling up his lips.

He already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the final chapter to this series, folks. It's been an honor and a pleasure to not only share Lance's journey -- from the darkest recesses of space to a place filled only with bright stars and a brighter future -- but the entire experience and themes of this work and thank you for all of your support and encouragement to do so. 
> 
> If you've enjoyed the series, if it's resonated with you, please share a final comment down below. I'd love to hear from you ♥


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